


Achluophobia

by PiecesOfScully



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Case File, F/M, around season 7, established MSR, horror story casefile, msr fanfic, msr fanfiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-20
Updated: 2017-04-23
Packaged: 2018-10-21 08:49:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 27,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10681869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PiecesOfScully/pseuds/PiecesOfScully
Summary: Mulder and Scully are called on a personal favor by Maggie Scully, to investigate a seemingly haunted house.





	1. Friday

**Author's Note:**

> Special thank you's to @kateyes224 and @bohoartist for all of the beta work, support, and love.

PROLOGUE

Yellowed porch lights from neighboring houses punch orbs of brightness into the colorless night that hangs heavily behind the living room windows. 

“Lindsey!” Her mother’s voice carries down the stairs to the couch that Lindsey sits on. Joey, her younger brother, glances at her over his tower of Legos that perches atop the coffee table. Ignoring his glare, she pulls her comic book closer to her face, her eyes straining to make sense of the jagged lines of the drawings at a too-close distance.

“Linds!” She hears her mother’s sing-song call again.

“Mom’s calling you, you should answer,” Joey says as he rummages through the plastic toy pieces in front of him, before settling on a long red plank and places it at the top of his creation. Lindsey chuckles and rolls her eyes as she snuggles herself deeper into the couch cushions. Her little brother is the personification of innocence with his bright blue eyes and freckled cheeks, both of which lend credence to his invariably angelic attitude. 

“She’ll come down and get me if she needs me.” She can feel his eyes on her still as she nonchalantly flips the page of her book and smirks. “Lighten up, punk.”

In a flurry, their mother enters the living room with her arms full of dirty laundry and her curly mahogany hair wisping wildly in every direction. Recently laid off from her job as a bookkeeper, her days are spent doing laundry, meal-prepping for the week ahead, and whirling throughout their house like an F5 tornado with a purpose. 

“Didn’t you hear me calling you?” she asks, her voice as weightless as the flowy blouse she’s donned. 

Lindsey shakes her head ‘no’ as her little brother speaks. “She did.”

“Tattletale,” Lindsey mumbles. Joey shrugs.

Their mother sighs, and then chuckles as she flits around the furniture, dusting here and there with a stray sock. “Linds, you really need to remember to blow out your candles before falling asleep. You’re gonna burn the house down.”

“I like the light,” Lindsey responds as she flips a page of her book. 

“Well, then we can get you a night-light. A night-light won’t catch the curtains on fire.”

“Mom! I’m fifteen, I can’t have a night-light. If my friends saw that, it would be like freaking social suicide.”

“Language, please,” their mother warns. “You know I don’t like it when you say freaking. That’s just another variation of a cuss word, and we don’t talk like that in this house.”

“I have a night-light,” Joey offers.

“You’re eight, no one cares if you have one,” Lindsey replies.

“Linds, being afraid of the dark, at any age, is nothing to be ashamed of,” her mother says as she crouches and begins to pull stray socks from underneath the couch, tucking them to the heap of clothing under her arm. “I know plenty of adults that sleep with the bathroom light on.”

“I’m not afraid of the dark!” 

Her mother juggles the laundry to her side as she bends down to press a kiss to the crown of her head. “Then blow the candles out before going to sleep, hon, or else I’m taking them away and supplying you with a princess plug-in.”

“Fine,” Lindsey says with an over-exaggerated sigh. “I’ll blow them out.”

“You promise?”

Lindsey nods. “Yeah, promise.”

“Thank you.” Her mother turns on her heel, and begins to exit the living room. “And Joey,” she calls over her shoulder. “It’s after 9, get into your pajamas and brush your teeth. Bedtime, buddy.”

Joey glances towards his mother, then leans back away from the coffee table and places his hands in his lap, sighing deeply as his eyes cast downwards. 

“Better get a move on, little brother,” Lindsey says. “Bedtime waits for no man.” 

“Can I…can I sleep with you tonight?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper. 

Lindsey laughs. “No way, Joey. You kick too much in your sleep, and I value my space too much.” He remains seated, his shoulders slumped while his hands are sit perfectly still atop his thighs. “Did you watch Jaws again when Mom wasn’t home?”

He shakes his head.

“Were the kids at school telling you scary stories?”

The top of his blond hair swishes gently across his forehead as he shakes his head again. Lindsey closes the comic book in her lap and stares at her brother. 

“What is it then?”

“I dunno. Nightmares, I think,” he says quietly.

“Did you remember to use your Monster Spray that Dad made you?”

“It’s just a squirt bottle filled with water, Lindsey,” he says rolling his eyes. “I’m eight, not stupid.”

Lindsey chuckles. “Okay,” she says, dragging the word out. “Do you want to talk about them?”

He looks at her finally, his eyes piercing her own, consideration flashing briefly across his face. He stands suddenly, the fleeting moment broken, and looks away as he gathers the Legos into a plastic bin with one quick swipe. Lindsey watches him intently as he tucks the bin into it’s place under the table, and then turns to walk out of the room.

“So that’s a ‘no’?” she calls after him.

“Good night, sleep tight,” he replies as he ascends the stairs. “Don’t let the boogeyman bite.”

“It’s bed bugs, you creep. Joey.”

He says nothing, instead just continues up the stairs until he’s out of sight. 

Xxxxx

The Cranberries ‘Zombie’ flows softly through Lindsey’s headphones as she leans back against her headboard and tucks her feet under her heavy down comforter. The clock on her night stand reads 11:21pm, its red glow dulled by the candescence of the burning candles surrounding it.

A gentle tap at her door is followed by her mother entering her room. “I’m going to head to bed soon, sweetie.”

“Ok. Hey, Mom, can I go to the mall with Rosie tomorrow?”

Her mother smiles, then crosses the room, seating herself on the edge of her bed.

“Linds, you know money is a little tight right now. Your dad has been working a lot of extra hours.”

“Yeah, I know. I just wanted to get Joey ‘Harry Potter and The Chamber of Secrets,’ because he’s almost done with ‘The Sorcerer’s Stone.’ I have some birthday money left that I was saving.”

Her mom smiles again, and grasps her hand.

“You’re a thoughtful sister, you know that? Remind me tomorrow, and I’ll put the money for the book on the counter,” she says with a wink. Lindsey nods. The bedsprings squeak softly as her mother shifts her weight, easing herself closer to her daughter. “Hey, hon, you okay?”

“Mom,” Lindsey starts hesitantly. “Did Joey tell you he’s been having nightmares?”

“No,” she replies, shaking her head. “He didn’t mention it, but they’re pretty common for a boy his age. Did he say something to you?”

“Earlier, yeah. I mean, Mom, he seemed pretty freaked out.”

Her mom nods. “Nightmares can be scary, especially for younger children, Linds. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure to hide the Jaws dvd and they’ll pass. Now, get some sleep, and don’t forget about your candles.”

“I won’t, promise.”

Lindsey leans into the kiss that’s pressed against her cheek, then watches as her mom walks out of her room, shutting the door behind her. 

Eyes suddenly laden with exhaustion, she snuggles further under her covers and gives in, closing them for what she feels is just a moment, only to startle awake a few hours later according to the clock on her nightstand. 

3:07am.

The stout single wick candles at her bedside still burn brilliantly, their small flames strong and stable over the pool of melted burgundy wax, casting a dim glow throughout the space of her room. Her sleepy eyes trail lazily across her belongings and furniture, scanning her room as she struggles to determine what has woken her. Everything appears in place, but the uneasiness in the air sends a sudden shiver down her spine. 

Outside of her room at the far end of the hallway, a loud thump sounds loudly throughout their home, as if a heavy book were dropped clumsily to the hardwood floor. Lindsey leans up on her elbow, her eyes alert and fixed on her closed door.

“Dad?” she calls, her voice weak with the knowledge that her father isn’t expected to be home for another few hours. His shift at the rubber factory doesn’t end until 6am, normally putting him home around 6:30. 

Her heart beats solidly in time with the rhythm of approaching footsteps, like the heavy clomping of a man’s work boots walking slowly along the wooden floor. She sits up rigidly, facing towards her door as the steady thump thump thump grows louder with each step, unhurriedly making their way in the direction of her bedroom.

Her body feels weightless as the rest of the house seems to fall completely silent. She can no longer hear the rush of the heat through the furnace ducts, the creaking of the boards swelling in the attic, or the hum of the music through the headphones that lay on her pillow. The focus of her hearing has zeroed in solely on the pathway of the footsteps. 

She pulls her blanket to her face and over her mouth, suppressing the overwhelming urge to call out for her mom, knowing that whoever is on the opposite side of the wall would also be able to hear her. She closes her eyes tightly, and in her mind, she’s able to envision their location in the house. 

Thump

Starting at the top of the staircase just adjacent to her parent’s bedroom.

Thump thump thump 

Brushing past the door to the guest room that sits musty and vacant.

Thump thump THUD

The footfalls grow louder as they pass the bathroom that’s lit by a seashell night-light. 

THUD 

The linen closet...

THUD

THUD

THUD

Then finally her bedroom which sits opposite to her brother’s. 

THUD

Her eyes whip open and she inhales sharply through her nose as the steps come to rest just outside of her bedroom. Her heart feels as if it has been replaced with an enormous bird trapped behind her ribcage, rapidly fluttering its wings in an attempt to break free and escape. 

“D-dad?” She tries to call again, but her voice is muffled by the downy feathers in the comforter. 

Creeeeak

The floorboards that lay behind her bedroom door whine under a sudden shift of weight, and she freezes, holding her breath as her eyes widen. The loose pictures that hang along her wall flutter wildly. A chilled breeze rushes across the room into her face and all around her, and the once bright flames of her candles are extinguished, reduced to skinny billows of smoke. Submerged into darkness, she jerks herself backwards, pulling the blanket with her until her back is flush against the headboard.

“No!” she cries. “Get out!”

She pushes her blanket aside and leaps to her feet, barely feeling the cold floor beneath her as she throws her door open and scurries out into the hallway, nearly tumbling down the stairs in an attempt to take them two at a time. Her chest is heaving as she stumbles into the living room, before collapsing onto the couch.

“Ouch.”

Lindsey screams, then feels a small hand clamp over her mouth.

“It’s just me,” the little voice says.

Lindsey gasps as her little brother pushes her to the side, off of his legs. “Joey? Joey, oh my God, what are you doing down here?”

“I couldn’t sleep in there.”

“Sleep where? Your room?”

He hums in response and buries his face deeper into the pillow beneath his head. Lindsey shifts to look back over her shoulder, staring at the staircase for a moment before settling back into the couch. She burrows under the blanket at the other end of the couch, sliding her legs between her brother and the cushions. 

“Why?” she whispers. “Another nightmare?”

“What about you?” he asks, ignoring her question. “Did you have a nightmare?”

“I don’t know,” she says unevenly, glancing again at the staircase. The living room is dark, but Lindsey can already feel herself relaxing. Being in the presence of another person has managed to calm her frayed nerves. It must have been Joey walking from his room, she thinks. That has to be what she heard.

Joeys breathing deepens, and for a moment she wonders if he’s fallen back asleep. “There’s someone in my room,” he whispers suddenly. “He stands in the corner by my closet and watches me sleep. His breathing wakes me up at night.” 

“A man?” she nearly yells. “Joey, did you tell Mom?”

“Shhhh, Linds, you’ll wake her up,” he whispers harshly, nudging her with his toes.

“Sorry, sorry,” she whispers. 

He hesitates before continuing. “I didn’t tell Mom, ‘cause I don’t think... he’s not really...I don’t know.”

“Is he there all the time? Like, during the day, too?” she asks, purposely keeping her voice low.

“I don’t think so. I only see him at night when my night-light’s off, in the dark.”

“Your night-light is always on, Joey. What’s he look like?”

“I don’t look at his face. I try not to look at him at all.” Joey shifts so that he’s facing his sister. “He turns off the light, Lindsey. He likes the dark.”

Lindsey shudders, and pulls the blanket up to her chin. “It’s probably just a nightmare,” she forces out. Even she can hear how lame her excuse is as it tumbles out of her mouth.

Joey watches her briefly, then closes his eyes. 

“Will you stay down here with me tonight?” he asks.

“Yeah. Yeah, I will.”

xxxxx

FOX MULDER RESIDENCE

“Oh God, Mulder, right there.” Her voice is low, husky. The muscles along her spine are taut as piano wire as she arches her back.

“Like this?”

She groans loudly in response. 

He chuckles, “Jesus, Scully. You’re going to wake my neighbors.”

She closes her eyes tightly, and stifles another groan. His hands were always something she’s loved about him; the strength they offer at the small of her back, the love she feels with each caress, the pleasure that his fingers are able to manifest. 

“Scully,” he whispers.

“Mulder, please, don’t stop.”

“Scully,” he says a little louder. “Why do you even wear those heels if they hurt your feet so badly?” 

“Mulder,” Scully says nudging the palm of his hand with her toes, “stop asking questions and keep rubbing.”

His hands squeeze the arch of her foot, his thumbs digging into the sensitive tendons, then travel to her ankle. Such a delicate frame for such a strong woman, he thinks. 

Her toes flex and contract as his fingers trail up her calf, his thumbs rubbing circles into her gastrocnemius. He’s unable to take his eyes from the sleek lines that trace the muscle, well formed from years of running. It seems inconceivable to him that just 24 hours ago Scully was clad in First Person Shooter gear; knee pads, head gear, and chest protection. 

She’d looked ridiculous, and she knew it. But there she was, his Scully, locked and loaded, ready to take on whatever Maitreya threw at her. Ready to save his ass, again. 

He thought he’d never been as in love with her as he was the moment she stepped off that platform. 

But tonight as she lay on his couch in nothing but his t-shirt and boxers, with her feet in his lap and her hair askew, he realizes how wrong he’d been. He’s positive that he could never love her more than he does right this very second. 

“Mulder…”

“Mmm?” he hums in response.

Her eyes flutter open and she smiles wickedly. “Take me to bed.”

Xxxxxxx

2 WEEKS LATER  
DOMBROWSKI RESIDENCE  
FRIDAY

 

With minimal effort, Lindsey can easily recall when Saturdays were a joyous event in their household. She remembers just weeks before, the afternoons spent playing with her brother outside in their backyard, refusing to come inside unless it was for a quick trip to the bathroom or their mother calling them in for dinner. Staying up late to watch movies as a family with their own bowls of popcorn, knowing that Saturday night bedtimes were more of a suggestion than a rule to be enforced. Mornings spent sleeping until the sun shone warmly through the curtains and the smell of frying bacon wafting into her bedroom. 

The weekends now, however, have become edgy and sleepless, leaving everyone rattled and irritable. Her father has been around less and less, picking up extra shifts whenever available. Her mother explains his growing absence with the family needing more of a ‘financial cushion,’ but Lindsey is convinced it’s an excuse, only a half-truth. 

She knows her father tries to be supportive and perceptive when he is home, actively listening to their hushed declarations of fear and offering, but Lindsey can’t shake the nagging feeling that it’s easier for him to stay away from the chaos. It’s easier to attend to a family that’s losing their shit, she thinks, when they’re a phone call and a forty-five minute drive away. 

There’s a short series of light taps against her door, and she looks over to see her brother peek his head in.

“Hey,” she says quietly. “Can’t sleep?”

When he enters her room his shoulders hang heavy, and he shakes his head.

“Want to sleep in here again? You can if -” Joey’s sliding under the covers before she’s able to finish the sentence. He turns to face the wall, and presses his back into her side, his breathing slows as soon as his head touches the pillow. 

Lindsey sighs, and snuggles down under the covers. 

“Don’t blow out your candles,” she hears him whisper. 

“I won’t,” she responds, watching the sturdy flicker of their flames. “I promise.”

Xxxxxx

Lindsey jerks awake with a hiss as her brother’s elbow jabs into her stomach. 

“What was that?” Joey whispers.

“Ow, it’s my stomach, you jerk.”

SLAM

The sharp sound of wood slamming against wood booms throughout their home. “No, Lindsey, THAT.”

“Dunno,” she says while sitting up, the haze of sleep disappearing as she pulls her brother closer. 

As they huddle together in her bed, waiting, she can feel his small hands fidgeting under the blanket, and she covers them with her own. A slight ringing assaults her hearing as she listens intently for any sign of movement beyond the bedroom. Lindsey shakes her head swiftly to stop it, and feels as if her hearing has suddenly been amplified, wincing as the wicks of the candles crack and pop into the silence like the burst of distant fireworks. Joey’s hand grasps her own, clutching it tightly. 

“I’m gonna go check-” Lindsey starts.

“No! No, you can’t leave.” 

“Joey, it’ll be fine.”

“Please.” His voice trembles as he begs. “Don’t go, Linds.” 

She presses a kiss to the crown of his head, then ruffles his hair with her fingers. “We’re fine. I’ll be right back.”

The matress springs squeak as she slides out of her bed, then she quietly inches her way across her room before opening her door a few inches. The wooden frame feels smooth against her cheek as she peeks through the crack into the hallway, and is startled to find it completely dark. 

That’s not right, she thinks. Each night their mother turns on the night-light in the bathroom just in case anyone needs to use it in the middle of the night. That soft glow usually bleeds through the open doorway and into the hall, but tonight it’s pitch black. 

She looks back at Joey, who’s sitting ramrod straight in the same place she left him, and offers him a weak smile. He doesn’t smile back.

The hinges whine as she opens the door the rest of the way, and steps out into the unusually chilled hallway. A shiver shakes its way down her body, goosebumps rippling over the length of her limbs. She crosses her arms stiffly across her chest, her hands rubbing briskly across the exposed flesh for warmth. If she were to exhale slowly, she thinks, she’d be able to see the puff of her warm breath curling from her lips. But, with the adrenaline that is pumping through her veins, her breaths are quick and shallow. 

The floor feels like a sheet of ice beneath her feet as she tiptoes further into the hallway, tossing a glance at her parent’s bedroom door, which remains closed. Every door in the hallway is shut, she realizes, including the bathroom. 

In the lower depths of her belly, a dull ache of dread begins to churn as her curiosity propels her forward, the old floorboards groaning weakly with every step she takes. The bathroom door looms before her, the close proximity of whatever lay waiting behind it sending her heart to thump wildly in her chest. 

She reaches out and grasps the doorknob, gripping it tightly in her hand. With a deep, shuddering breath, she turns it. 

The click of the latch releasing resounds loudly throughout the empty hallway, sounding like the crack of a gunshot. She freezes in place with a gasp and looks around, convinced that she’s drawn attention to herself, but is relieved to find herself alone.

Please be empty, please be empty, please be empty, she thinks, chanting to herself.

After another deep breath, she pushes the door open. Her body numbs as she covers her eyes with her hand, temporarily blinded by the striking glow of the night-light, and she stifles the scream that’s building in the back of her throat. Burned into the back of her eyelids is the shape of a form standing directly ahead of her, tall and bright. She stumbles backwards a few steps, then forces herself to look again. 

“What the…” she mutters as her eyes finally adjust to the brightness, then covers her mouth to keep from laughing. A few feet in front of her hangs the mirror above the vanity, her confused reflection staring back at her. 

SLAM

She spins around, her eyes frantically darting across the hallway, searching for the source of the noise. 

“LINDSEY!!” Her brother’s scream slices through the silence.

“Joey?” She sprints the few steps to her bedroom, and loses her footing. Her face slams into the dense wood of her closed door first, followed by her chest and knees. 

“Go away!” She hears him scream. “Lindsey!”

The sharp pain in her nose doesn’t even register as she twists the doorknob and pushes.

“It’s locked!” She yells as she slams her hand repeatedly against the door. “Joey, unlock the door!”

The door knob pulls at the skin of her palm as she attempts to twist it back and forth, hopelessly tugging at it. The air around her grows thick as she rams her shoulder into the center of the door, she struggles to breathe while throwing her weight into it as her brother shrieks, “Please don’t let him get me!”

“Stay away from him!” she screams.

And then everything falls silent. 

“Joey!” she yells and slams her hand against the door. “Answer me, Joey!”

She hears a small click before the door starts to open, inch by inch revealing the expanse her pitch black bedroom. The darkness feels oppressive as she stands before it, its density swallowing all light and energy as she stares into it, unable to turn her eyes away. A tingling sensation sparks in her belly as she feels her foot slide over the threshold. The darkness pulls at her, beckoning her through the doorway. Joey emerges from the shadows, grabbing her hand as he runs past, and begins to drag her down the hall. 

“The candles blew out! Lindsey, run!” he yells, pulling her with all of his might. 

A loud pop erupts, the night-light in the bathroom exploding as they pass the doorway, thrusting them back into complete darkness as they sprint to their parent’s bedroom. “Mom!” he yells, throwing open the door. “Mom, wake up.”

Lindsey slams the door shut behind her and locks it, her chest heaving as she collapses against its solid frame. 

“What’s going on?” their mother asks as Joey catapaults into bed with her. 

“It’s back,” Joey whines, pulling their parent’s duvet over his head. She sits up in bed, motioning with her hand for Lindsey to join them. 

Sandwiching their mother between them, Lindsey climbs in under the covers, curling into her mother’s side. “Didn’t you hear us screaming?” she asks. 

Her mother shakes her head, bewildered. “I didn’t…” she whispers. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not going away, Mom,” Joey says. “It’s getting worse.”

They sit in silence for a few minutes, the children’s faux sense of safety quickly betrayed when they hear a familiar muffled thump at the opposite end of the hall. Lindsey’s muscles immediately stiffen, and her mother’s arm tightens around her. 

Thump

Thump

“It’s coming from Lindsey’s room,” Joey whispers. Their mother hums in response, shifting her weight to pull her children closer. 

Thump

Thump

THUMP

Joey gasps loudly as the footsteps cease just outside their door. A heavy stillness falls over them, but remains for only a moment before the doorknob jostles slightly, the lock preventing it from fully turning either way. The jostling shifts to a constant rattle, the knob shifting back and forth rapidly, before becoming forceful. The latch begins hammering against the strike plate as the door jolts violently in its frame. 

Lindsey barely notices as Joey covers his ears with his hands and buries his face into his mother’s side, while she and her mother stare ahead wide-eyed. She can’t hear his whimpers as the family pictures that hang on the wall shake viciously under the thunderous assault, then fall one by one to the floor with a shatter, glass scattering in all directions. 

A loud BANG reverberates through her as the door jerks in its frame one last time, a fine crack splintering vertically down the length of the wood, before it all comes to an abrupt end. The air buzzes with remnants of what feels like an electric energy, the deafening silence crashing over them once again. 

“I can’t do this anymore,” Lindsey whispers. 

Her mother strokes her hair. “I know, sweetheart. I know.”

Xxxxxx

DANA SCULLY RESIDENCE  
FRIDAY AFTERNOON

Mulder lazily slides his fingertips along the exposed skin of her thigh, still slightly damp with perspiration. Scully chuckles and swats his hand away. “Not again. My mom is going to be here- wait, what time is it?”

The bedsheet falls from her chest as she rises from the bed and crosses to the bathroom. “She’s going to be here in half an hour, Mulder,” she calls over her shoulder. “Get up and shower.”

“Half an hour? That means we have twenty minutes to kill,” he says while sprawling out on his back, his arms tucked under his head. “You know what we could do with another twenty minutes, Scully?”

Scully throws a towel at Mulder, which lands on his face with an ‘oomf.’ “Mulder. Shower. I want you clothed before she walks through that door.”

He groans dramatically as he rolls out of her bed, stretching his arms above his head as he emits a yawn. 

“Save water, shower with a friend?” he asks as he enters the bathroom. The moist air already smells heavily of her shampoo, as she hums huskily in response. The shower curtain squeaks as he pulls it back, then steps into the tub behind her.

xxxxx

Mulder can’t seem to wipe the grin from his face through their lunch of sandwiches and soup, resulting in the occasional kick to the shin from Scully under the table, followed by an icy sideways glance. Maggie, thankfully, appears ignorant to their ongoings, and chatters on about the recipe she’d found days earlier for a pot roast. 

“It practically melts in your mouth, Dana. It’s simply delicious.”

Scully cuts a quick glance to Mulder, her eyes daring him to smirk at the comment as he hurriedly wipes his mouth with his napkin. “Well,” he says leaning back in his chair, “that was a wonderful lunch. Thank you, again, for bringing it over, Mrs. Scully.”

“Yes, thank you, Mom.”

“Oh, you’re very welcome.”

He stands and begins to clear the table of the dishes, stacking the bowls onto the small plates.

“You don’t have to do that,” Scully insists.

“I got it,” he says as he takes an arm-full to the kitchen. “You two talk.”

Maggie reaches across the table and takes Scully’s hand. “Actually, I was hoping to speak to you about something, Dana.”

“Are you ok, Mom?” Scully asks as her eyebrows rise, suddenly alert and giving her mother her full attention. 

Maggie chuckles, then waves her hand passively. “Oh, no, sweetheart, I’m fine! No, this isn’t about me, it’s about a friend of mine.”

Mulder returns from the kitchen, and places a steaming mug on the table in front of each of them. “Coffee for my ladies, prepared just the way you like it.”

A smile spreads across Maggie’s face as she watches him press a kiss to the crown of Scully’s head, and then walk into the living room and fall into a heap on the couch with the remote in hand. The Discovery Channel begins to drone in the background.

“Mom? What did you want to talk about?”

Maggie sighs. ““Yesterday I received a call from Claire. Oh, Dana, she was frantic. Broke down to tears as soon as I answered the phone, poor thing. She apologized numerous times for bothering me, and I tried to assure her that she wasn’t a bother, but that didn’t seem to calm her down.”

“I’m sorry, but who’s Claire?” Scully asks.

“A friend from church, sweetheart.”

Scully nods, gesturing with her hand for her mother to continue.

“Claire and her husband, Jack, have been going through a rough time. They have a young son and a daughter, such a lovely family.” Scully watches as Maggie pauses, running the tip of her finger along the rim of the coffee mug. “You know I wouldn’t normally ask something like this of you, but she said that she’d remembered that I’d told her about you and Fox investigating the paranormal, and she’s apparently desperate for your help.”

Mulder turns from his place on the couch and looks towards Maggie. “Help with what?”

“Mulder-” Scully starts.

“No, Dana, I’d like for him to hear this, too. Claire is convinced that their house is haunted.”

“Oh, Mom, that’s not really what we do.”

“What gives them that impression, Mrs. Scully?” Mulder asks as he pads across the floor and seats himself next to Maggie. Scully sighs.

“I don’t really know any of the specifics, but she was so insistent. She asked me to see if you two could help her.”

“Has she contacted the church? I’m sure if she explained what was going on, they would be more than happy to send someone to conduct a blessing.”

Maggie shakes her head. “She doesn’t want to involve the church.”

“Too embarrassed?” Mulder asks, and Maggie nods. “That’s actually pretty common.”

“Mom, I’m sorry, but when I say that we investigate the paranormal, I don’t mean that we are paranormal investigators.” Her mother looks at her intently, her eyebrows furrowed. “It’s not like what you see on t.v.,” she explains further.

“Well, hang on a minute, Scully,” Mulder says, placing his hand on hers. “We have a three day weekend because of the holiday. It doesn’t have to be an official investigation, just a favor for a friend of the family.”

“Mulder-”

“Please, sweetheart. Just go talk to them. That’s all I’m asking,” Maggie says.

“Just a quick conversation? We can do that. Mrs. Scully, could you give Claire a call for us? Let her know we’ll be over in a few hours.”

“Oh, thank you, Fox.”

Xxxxxxx

DOMBROWSKI RESIDENCE  
FRIDAY NIGHT

The sleepy street is quiet under the soft lunar glow, which highlights the asymmetrical facade of each victorian style house, accentuating their well-manicured lawns. It’s late in the evening, nearly 9pm, when Mulder slows the car to a crawl in front of a large two-story home, nestled neatly in the middle of the suburbs. With it’s peaks jutting high into the inky sky, the house stands tall before them, its windows shining brightly with the luminescence of interior lighting.

“I’d hate to see their electric bill,” Mulder deadpans as he parks the car. Scully flashes him a smile and unbuckles her seatbelt. “You in a hurry?”

She sighs, tilting her head towards the house. “This isn’t exactly how I planned on spending my holiday weekend, Mulder. A haunting?”

“The sooner we debunk this haunting, the sooner we have a happy family friend, you have a happy mom, and the sooner we can go home.” He chews his bottom lip and drums his fingers along the bottom of the steering wheel. 

“How do you know it’s not a real haunting?” she questions, unable to hide the surprise in her voice. 

The question catches him off guard. She is provoking him, and he loves her for it. Even when he thwarts their weekend plans with an impromptu unofficial investigation, she’s still willing to play their game.

“We won’t know until we speak to the family,” he says.

“Right,” she says nodding. “We can’t very well do that from the car, now can we?”

She climbs out of the car and makes her way up the narrow walkway, leaving Mulder scrambling to catch up as she reaches the door. 

xxxxxxx

“Dana, Mr. Mulder, would either of you like some tea? Coffee?” Claire Dombrowski asks while holding up a coffee mug. Scully smiles and declines with a shake her head.

“No, thank you,” Mulder says holding up a hand, “but, please, call me Mulder. Just Mulder.” 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Claire says as she places the mug on the countertop, and pours herself a cup of coffee. “I think Maggie told me that you preferred to be called that. And please, don’t mind the mess,” she says gesturing to the few dishes in the sink. 

“You have a lovely home,” Scully says, trying her best to reassure Claire. “Stunning, actually. What year is it?”

“Oh, early 1900’s, give or take a decade,” Claire’s husband, Jack, says with a laugh. “We’ve done our best to update what we can, but there’s still so much to do. We’re actually considering downsizing.”

“Why is that?” Scully asks.

“Big house for a small family,” Jack says with a shrug, efficiently ending the conversation. 

“So,” Mulder starts, “Mr. and Mrs.-”

“Jack and Claire,” Jack interrupts. 

Mulder nods. “Jack and Claire. Dana’s mother, Maggie, recently informed us that you were experiencing some issues, and asked if we could offer a solution.”

Claire crosses the linoleum floor and seats herself at the table next to her husband, across from Mulder and Scully. 

“We’ve, uh, we have a…” Jack says as he leans back in his chair, putting his arm around his wife’s shoulders.

“Situation,” Claire finishes for him. “Our house is haunted.” She sighs heavily into her mug of coffee that she holds in front of her face, pushing the steam to roll over the rim and then disappear. 

“What’s brought you to that conclusion, Claire?” Scully asks, trying to keep the edge of skepticism from her voice. 

“Well, we’ve been experiencing things lately. The last few weeks, at least. I know this sounds ridiculous, but it’s been gradually getting worse, to the point that the kids are terrified.”

“Where are your children?” Mulder asks.

“Our daughter, Lindsey, is staying at her friend’s house tonight, and Joey, our son, is upstairs in bed.”

“He’ll end up in our bed by morning,” Jack adds with a sad chuckle. 

Scully smiles gently, then asks, “How old are they?”

“Lindsey,” Claire replies, “is fifteen-”

“Going on twenty-one,” Jack adds with a slight shake of his head. “Girl’s a social butterfly, always on the move, always something to say.”

“She’s a good girl,” Claire says as she pats her husband’s hand. “That’s how they all are at that age. Our little Joey is eight.”

Mulder shifts in his seat and glances at Scully, watching her eyebrow raise. “Eight?” she asks. 

“We know that he’s a little old to be sleeping with his parents,” Claire says quickly. “Normally we wouldn’t condone it, but you need to understand what’s been going on, why he won’t stay in his own bed.”

“What exactly has your family experienced?” Mulder asks.

Jack and Claire look at each other momentarily, then Jack sighs. “Go on, hun. Tell ‘em, that’s why they’re here.”

“I swear,” Claire says, turning her gaze to Mulder and Scully, “we aren’t crazy.”

“Trust us, we’ve heard some pretty crazy things,” Mulder says with a reassuring smile. “Why don’t you just start from the beginning?”

“It started with the kids hearing footsteps. They would hear them at night, thinking it was Jack, but he was still at work.” 

“I work third shift at a plant a few towns over,” Jack says.

Claire leans forward and rests her elbows on the table, folding her hands in front of her. “The footsteps gradually became louder, more...forceful.” 

“You live in an old house,” Scully says. “Do you think it could be a result of the house settling?”

“We considered that,” Claire says, nodding. “But when we tried to ignore it-”

“We?” Mulder asks, interrupting. “I’m sorry, but you said ‘we.’ Have you heard these footsteps as well?”

Jack and Claire both nod.

“And what happened when you tried to ignore it?” Mulder asks.

“It, um…” Claire chews on her lip, then releases a breath through pursed lips. “Well, it sounds ridiculous saying it out loud.”

“That’s okay,” Scully assures her. 

Claire’s eyes dart around the room before she says finally, “It knocks on the door, like the insistent tap of someone wanting to come in. And when you look, there’s no one there. But when you ignore it, the knocking gets more aggressive, it turns into beating.” She pauses to sigh and bring her hands to the sides of her face, her fingers rubbing circles over her temples. When she speaks again, her words come quickly, her voice strained. “A constant pounding that feels like it’s never going to end. And Joey has been having nightmares, which isn’t normal for him, really, and he’s woken me so many times in the middle of the night, terrified, telling me someone is in his room. I’ve checked each time, but I never see anyone, but Joey swears ‘he’ is in there. Lindsey refuses to sleep without a light on, my fifteen year old daughter is suddenly afraid of the dark, and when I try to tell her-” Claire puts her hand to her mouth to stifle the sob that breaks her voice. Tears fill her eyes as Jack rubs his hand up and down her back.

“It’s alright, hun,” he says softly. “It’s ok.”

“No, it’s not,” Claire whimpers, her voice muffled by her hand. “How can I make my babies feel safe if I don’t even feel safe here, Jack?”

Scully glances at Mulder who offers her a tight-lipped smile. “Claire?”

“Oh, Dana, Mulder, please forgive me,” Claire says as she dabs at her eyes with a napkin. “I’m just at my wit’s end.”

“We understand,” Mulder says, his voice smooth and soothing. “It sounds like your family has been through a lot.”

“We really have been,” Claire replies.

“How long you two been with the FBI?” Jack asks.

“We have over twenty years of experience between the two of us,” Mulder says.

“Have you ever heard of anything like this?”

“There are many cases of unexplained phenomena documented and recorded,” Scully says. “A few of which we have investigated.”

“Any hauntings specifically?” Claire asks.

“Claire,” Scully says while folding her hands in front of her on the table, “we can’t be sure that what you are experiencing is, in fact, a haunting.” 

“But we are sure!” Claire says, nearly yelling. “I told you what my children and I have experienced, and there’s more. Just the other night Jack was woken from a dead sleep by the footsteps down the hall and the knocking on the door. There was no one there when he looked, Dana. No one.”

“I understand that, and we aren’t trying to diminish what you’re family has been experiencing. If you do feel that it is truly a haunting, why won’t you at least consider getting the church involved?”

Claire looks down into her lap, twisting her napkin between her hands. “How do I even begin to explain to Father McCue what’s been happening? Where would I even start? If this got around the church, we’d be the laughingstock of the entire congregation.” She looks up directly at Scully. “Please understand, I’m asking for your help because we can’t go to the church. Not even to ask for a blessing. I won’t put my family through any more humiliation.”

“Have you considered any alternative methods?” Mulder asks. 

“It goes strongly against our beliefs, but I did research a few... ‘other-worldly’ ideas,” Claire says with a huff and then shakes her head, dismissing the ideas as quickly as she’s spoken them.

“Jack, Claire, I’m sorry but I’m just not sure what you’re hoping we’d be able to do for you,” Scully says.

“Just stay one night,” Jack insists. “We have a guest room, and a couch. Please, it’ll put my wife’s mind at ease. While you’re here, I can show you around the house, prove to you both that we’ve exhausted every other explanation.”

Scully glances at Mulder who’s looking back at her. They hold their stare for a moment, before Mulder shrugs off his leather jacket and asks, “Should we start with the furnace?”

xxxxx

It’s over an hour later when Mulder finds Scully in the guest room. 

“Knock, knock.” He closes the door behind him, and brushes his hands across his chest swiftly. His black t-shirt is littered with flakes of lint, the only physical evidence of his ascent and descent from the attic. 

“How’d everything go?” Scully asks as she pulls back the blankets that lay across the bed.

Mulder lays his jacket on the back of a plush chair, then sits down. “Furnace checks out, he even showed me the receipt from the HVAC technician’s visit two weeks ago. The attic seems well insulated, roof is in good condition, hell Scully, even all of the windows are shut tight and locked.”

She nods, chewing the side of her mouth, and takes a seat at the edge of the bed. She’s surprised to find herself disappointed. Generally, she thinks, hauntings can be written off as faulty air flow from the furnace, or noisy beams in the attic expanding and contracting because of the fluctuating temperatures. She sighs lightly and closes her eyes, internally chastising herself for being foolish and hoping for an easy solution, less of a challenge. Nothing in their lives comes easy, she reminds herself with a smirk.

“Jack confided in me while we were in the basement,” Mulder says as he shifts to his side in the chair, then pulls his belt from the loops with a quick yank and lays it over his jacket. “Which also checked out, as well I might add.”

“Oh?” 

“He mentioned that they have been experiencing financial hardship over the last few months. He’s been picking up extra shifts at the factory where he’s employed, so he’s not home very much.”

“I’d gathered as much from Claire.”

“You think there’s something more to it?” Mulder asks, his voice low.

“Extramarital affair?”

Mulder nods.

“No, I really don’t. We could always speak with his supervisor, get a copy of his time cards just to verify.” She tilts her head, then says, “He did, however, make a comment that I found a little odd.”

“What’s that?”

“That they may be downsizing. Mulder, you mentioned financial hardship. Did he mention if they were on the verge of filing bankruptcy?”

“No, he didn’t. I’m not sure that filing for bankruptcy would have anything to do with a haunting…” Mulder pauses, watching as she avoids his eye contact by concentrating on fluffing the pillows, then his eyes widen. “Wait, you’re not...Amityville Horror? Scully, if I’d have known you had such a penchant for horror movies, I’d have swapped ‘When Harry Met Sally’ for ‘Nightmare on Elm Street’ ages ago. Are you actually suggesting that Jack’s taking notes from the Lutz family?” 

“Don’t look at me like that,” she says with a smirk and a shrug. “I’m just saying that it’s happened before, and has become a very well known and thoroughly documented experience. A family falsifying a haunting with the sole purpose of escaping their financial burdens.”

“George Lutz has gone on record denying the accusation that his claims were bogus.”

“While his attorney at the time,” Scully argues, “confessed to creating the story with the Lutzes over 4 bottles of wine.”

“Scully, multiple mediums investigated 112 Ocean Avenue, all of them in agreement that the house was, in fact, haunted by an evil entity. The same entity that oppressed Ronnie Defeo, telling him to murder all six members of his family.”

Scully brings her fingertips to the bridge of her nose, pinching the soft tissue between her eyes. She’s acutely aware that his voice is bordering on the tone that he adopts when forcing her through another one of his slideshows. The fact that they are currently out of the office and without the slide projector elicits a small sigh of relief. “Ronnie Defeo has changed his story multiple times over the years. Multiple, Mulder. If he had any credibility, and I stress the word ‘if,’ it’s been shot to hell.”

“He was coerced.”

“By whom?!” Scully snaps. “Mulder,” she says, dropping her voice to a near whisper, “you’re missing the point. What I’m saying here is that I don’t expect to see an excess of flies congregating around a window or green sludge dripping down the walls. Financial stress can become burdensome for a family, to the point that it could lead the head of the household to falsify information out of desperation to get out from under it.”

“Touche.” Mulder nods absentmindedly, pondering her words. “Stress itself can wreak havoc on a family, both mentally and emotionally,” he adds. “I mean, it’s clear that they’re under some sort of emotional duress.”

“Folie á deux?” Scully asks as she climbs into the bed, turning to face Mulder as she tucks a pillow under her head. 

Mulder smiles. “Not this time.”

“You’re thinking this could be an actual haunting?”

“I don’t know what to think. All Jack was able to provide me with was proof of what it isn’t. Did Claire offer anything else?” 

“No, not really. And we haven’t talked to the kids yet,” Scully says before she yawns.

“Their daughter, Lindsey, should be home tomorrow. We can talk to them both then,” Mulder says as he pads across the floor and leans down to press a kiss to her lips. “The couch is calling my name.”

“I’m sorry,” she groans. 

“The couch and I have a long-standing relationship. I’ll be able to make do for one night.”

They’re interrupted by the shrill of Scully’s cell phone. 

“That would be my mother.”

“Give her my love,” he says kissing her once more, then whispers, “I’ll see you in the morning.” The door snicks closed behind him as he leaves. 

Scully grabs her phone from the nightstand and presses ‘talk’ just before the call is sent to voicemail. 

“Hi, Mom.”

“Hi, sweetheart. Sorry to call so late, but I just wanted to check in and see how things were going.”

Scully sighs. “It’s alright. Claire and Jack seem nice.”

“They are, they’re such a lovely family. Have you met their children?”

Scully rolls onto her back, pressing the phone tighter to her ear. “No, not yet; we arrived here a little too late. We’ll be meeting them tomorrow.”

“You’re still there?” Maggie asks.

“Yeah, they insisted that we stay the night. I’m in the spare bedroom, Mulder’s on the couch in the living room.”

“I can’t thank you enough, the both of you.” Maggie pauses. Her voice is low, near a whisper when she asks, “Have you...well, experienced anything?”

“We’re happy to help, but no, nothing. We’ve only been here long enough to talk with them, hear their side of the story. We’ll know more once we-”

Her explanation is interrupted by the distant sound of a muffled thud outside of her room, followed by weighty footfall leisurely making it’s way down the hallway.

“Mom? Hang on a sec, I think Mulder needs something.”

She faintly hears her mother say ‘okay’ as she pulls herself from the bed, and crosses to the door. She opens it, and glances down the empty hallway. Dim light pools out from the bathroom, casting a warm glow down the vacant corridor.

“Sweetheart?”

“Yeah, Mom, sorry. I thought I heard…”

“Is Mulder there?”

 

“No,” she says shutting the door. “I thought I heard him...Nevermind. What was I saying?”

“That you would know more once you…”

“Oh, right. Yeah, we’ll know more once we’re able to sit down and talk with their kids. Get their versions of the situation, hear what they experienced.” She pauses for a moment, then asks, “Mom, I hate to ask you, but have you heard anything about them considering filing for bankruptcy?”

“Not that I can recall, but I think I’d remember hearing that. Oh dear, that’s dreadful. I know a few weeks ago the congregation talked about collecting donations for their family, but-”

Three quick raps on her door jarr Scully’s attention, once again, from her mother.

“Come in,” she calls quietly. “I’m sorry, Mom, just a second.” Scully watches the door, waiting for the person to enter, but it remains closed. 

“Is everything alright?” Maggie asks.

“I’m not sure,” Scully mumbles as she crosses the room again. She pulls the door open expecting to see Mulder standing there with a lopsided grin and an excuse of wanting to check on her, but is surprised to find the hallway empty and dark. The glow that had lit the corridor just moments before now absent. The tiny hairs along the back of her neck raise as she casts her gaze down the hallway.

“Mulder.” The lamp behind her switches off, the hallway’s darkness hemorrhaging into her room like a severed artery, just as her harsh whisper scratches into the silence. “Shit.” 

“Dana?” she hears her mom ask. 

“Mom, would you mind if I called you back tomorrow? It’s just,” she sighs, brushing a few errant strands of hair from her face, “it’s been a long day, and I think the exhaustion is getting to me.” She flits her eyes to the ends of the hallway one last time before shutting the door. Her thumb grazes the front of the doorknob, searching for a lock that isn’t there. 

“Of course, of course,” her mother replies. 

The call is ended with promises to talk soon, and Scully climbs into bed, burying herself under the heavy blanket. Her fingers twitch anxiously against the silky duvet as she struggles between relieving the acute uneasiness with the dark by turning on the lamp, and chastising herself for her ridiculousness. 

Even as she lay there assuring herself that it was Joey walking to his parents’ room, that there must be a short in the lamp’s wiring, her hearing remains piqued as her eyes stay fixed on the door before finally succumbing to sleep.


	2. Saturday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mulder and Scully are called on a personal favor by Maggie Scully to investigate a seemingly haunted house.

DOMBROWSKI RESIDENCE  
SATURDAY

The atmosphere within the house is relaxed the next morning, with much of the activity confined to the kitchen as Claire mindlessly hums a tune while preparing breakfast for everyone. Jack sips coffee at the table with Mulder and Scully, while the smell of bacon frying on the stove sends their stomachs into a growling frenzy. 

“Can I help with anything?” Scully asks. 

Claire waves her hand and shakes her head. “No, thank you. Breakfast is the least I can offer you. Sit and drink that coffee.” 

“How’d you two sleep?” Jack asks, his voice cloaked in nonchalance, but his eyes flick back and forth between the two agents desperately asking the loaded question he’s too afraid to speak out loud, did you experience anything? 

At the mere mention of sleep, Scully struggles to stifle a yawn and her recollection of last night with the back of her hand. 

Jack chuckles. “That well, huh? I know that mattress is a little lumpy.”

“No,” Scully answers quickly. “No, it was fine, thank you.”

He rests his elbows on the table, leaning towards her. Slivers of reluctant hope glimmer around the edges of his voice when he finally verbalizes, “Something else then?”

Mulder nudges a fresh cup of coffee in Scully’s direction, who takes it with a small smile of appreciation. “Just new surroundings,” he offers. 

Concealed beneath the table, Scully brushes her knee against Mulder’s, a silent thank you for stepping in and ending a conversation she wasn’t in the frame of mind to have. “Not working today, Jack?” she asks, changing the subject.

“Took the weekend off,” he says turning to flash a smile in the direction of his wife. She turns as if on cue, and winks at her husband. “I’m planning to spend it with my family, and you fine people.”

Mulder downs the remaining coffee from his mug as Claire shuffles to the cupboard and begins pulling down plates.

“Breakfast is almost ready,” Claire says as she crosses to place the dishes on the table. “Just waiting on the biscuits.”

“Would you mind if I went and introduced myself to Joey before we eat?” Mulder asks.

“Of course not,” Claire responds. “Go on up, he’s in his room playing. It’s the last door on the right.”

Mulder flashes Scully a smile before exiting the kitchen. 

“Dana,” Jack says, “I’m sorry, but I have to ask…”

Scully smiles weakly, resigning herself to the fact that this conversation can’t be avoided. Her and Mulder’s presence was supposed to offer support for their claims, if not a solution. With the questionable nature of the events from the night before, she doesn’t feel confident offering either.

“...nothing? Nothing at all?” he asks.

So, she lies. “I’m sorry, Jack. I know you were hoping-”

His chuckle cuts her off. “Hoping for you to have the wits scared out of you, so that we’d know we’re not crazy? That’s such a terrible thing for someone to hope for, but...yeah. Terrible or not.”

“Not terrible at all, actually. It’s understandable,” she says before she takes a sip of her coffee. “Did you experience anything last night?”

“No, I slept like a rock. Hun?”

Claire turns from the stove, “Yeah?”

“Did you notice anything weird last night?”

“Now that you mention it, no. I slept soundly,” she says while offering Scully a smile, who returns it.

xxxxx

Upstairs, Mulder raps his knuckles on the bedroom door before poking his head in. “Joey?”

“You can come in, Mr. Mulder.”

Joey sits in the middle of a bright blue rug surrounded by small toy cars as Mulder walks in. His room is typical for a boy his age; model airplanes hang from the ceiling in the far corner, a wooden bookshelf that’s stacked full of books, a Transformers poster. A toy chest sits at the end of his perfectly made bed, the corners mitered and the pillow centered directly in the center. Mulder can’t help but smile; Scully would be impressed with Joey’s precision.

“It sounds like my reputation precedes me,” Mulder says softly. Joey flits his eyes to Mulder’s, a look of confusion on his face. Mulder smiles. “You know my name, but we haven’t been officially introduced.”

“Dad told me you and Miss Dana got here last night.”

“What’cha doing?” Mulder asks as he sits on the floor in front of the boy, crossing his legs. 

“Playing racecar,” Joey mumbles as his hand guides a red car across an imaginary track in the grooves of the rug. 

“Mind if I play with you?”

“Here,” Joey says pushing a car towards him. “You can be the green one.” 

“Am I racing you?”

“No, you just drive around real fast, like this,” he answers, then pushes his car quickly in front of him while making an engine revving sound. 

Mulder plays along, spinning his car at the edge of the rug while making a loud screeching sound. “Oh no, I’m spinning out!”

“I’ll save you!” Joey says dramatically as he races his car to Mulder’s, butting his fender up to Mulder’s drivers side. He huffs a sigh of relief. “You’re safe now.”

“Thanks, that was a close one.”

“Sure was!” Joey exclaims as his car begins the long trek back to the front of his knees. 

“So, hey, I was talking with your parents earlier,” Mulder says, keeping his voice smooth and nonchalant, “and they said that there has been some strange things going on lately.”

Joey’s body stiffens and the color drains from his face as his car stops mid-acceleration. His eyes dart around his bedroom before they finally meet Mulder’s. “I don’t want to talk about that.”

“Why not?” 

“I’m not supposed to.”

“You’re not supposed to talk to me?” Mulder asks while pointing to himself. 

“Not anyone. Not about that,” Joey whispers.

“Did someone tell you that you couldn’t talk about it?”

He sighs and begins pushing his car, ignoring Mulder.

“It’s ok, Joey, you can tell me who. It’ll be our secret,” Mulder says as he draws an X across his chest with his finger. “Cross my heart.”

Joey continues to maneuver his car in front of him, before finally muttering, “He did.”

“Your dad?”

Joey shakes his head.

“Then who?”

Mulder watches as Joey shrugs his shoulders again. He had anticipated being shut out, but it was something Mulder hadn’t been expecting to happen so soon. He glances around the room, searching for another way to get the boy talking again, when hand-drawn artwork taped to the wall catches his eye. Crayon sketches of the Dombrowski family, a dog under a tree, a red racecar, and one of their house.

“Hey, those are nice drawings you have hanging over there. Did you do those?”

Joey glances up with a smile on his face. “Yeah.”

“You like to draw?”

“Yeah, sometimes.”

“Would you wanna draw me a picture?”

 

Joey stares at him for a moment before asking, “Like what?”

“Anything you want.”

“Mulder?” They hear Scully’s voice call as she opens the door.

“Hey, Scully,” Mulder says. “This is Joey, Joey this is my partner Dana.” 

Scully offers him a warm smile and a wave.

“But you called her Scully,” Joey says.

Mulder chuckles. “I did. But you can call her Dana.”

“Sorry to interrupt,” Scully says, “but Mulder, I just got off the phone with the plant supervisor.”

He nods in understanding. “Hey, Joey, I gotta run, but don’t forget to draw me that picture, ok?”

“Ok,” Joey mumbles.

Mulder follows Scully into the hall and shuts the door behind him. “So,” he asks, “what’d Jack’s supervisor have to say?”

“Jack was telling the truth; he’s been working 60-70 hours a week,” she answers in a hushed tone. Mulder guides her into the spare bedroom and closes the door behind them. “Jack had told his supervisor about going through some hard times with Claire’s layoff, so he offered Jack some extra hours to help make ends meet.”

“Can we get a copy of his time cards?”

“Tomorrow,” she says nodding. “They’ll be waiting for us at the front desk.”

xxxxx

The day rushes past quickly, uneventful but leaving a mild tension to fall over the family and guests as they sit for dinner. The mood in the household is tangy; sweet with bits of light-hearted chatter, and sour with insecurities and worry, skepticism and doubt. The agents are due to leave within the next few hours, walking out just as clueless as when they had arrived the day before. Claire tries her best to keep the conversation flowing, asking questions about everyone’s day, but an unsettling silence lingers between answers. As the last bits of Cool Whip and apple pie are scraped from plates, the family scatters. Mulder and Scully find Lindsey, who had just arrived home a few minutes earlier, seated on the couch with a book on her lap. 

“Lindsey, could we talk? We haven’t had a chance to introduce ourselves. I’m Dana, and this is my partner, Mulder,” Scully says, gesturing to Mulder who’s lowering himself onto the loveseat next to her.

“Partner?” Lindsey asks.

“We’re with the FBI,” Mulder offers. “We aren’t here officially, just as a favor for your parents.”

She looks confused for a moment, but then nods slowly. “You’re Miss Maggie’s daughter, right? The one who’s supposed to help us.”

“We’re going to try,” Scully says with a smile. “Maybe you can help us. Could you tell us what’s been going on?”

“Haven’t you talked to my mom? Didn’t she tell you?”

“She did,” Scully says as she shifts her frame towards the young woman, “but we were hoping to hear about your experiences from you.”

Lindsey closes the book in her lap and shrugs. 

“We were hoping you could provide us with an idea as to why this might be occurring,” Mulder says.

“Our house is haunted,” Lindsey says matter-of-factly. “We hear things, see things, feel things. No reason for it, it just is.” 

“What is it that you’ve seen?” Mulder asks.

“How are you going to help us?” the girl counters. 

“Well, first we need to establish that this is, in fact, a haunting.”

Lindsey’s spine straightens rigidly as her eyes pierce Mulder. “You don’t believe us?” 

“No, of course, we do,” he replies quickly. 

“Then what else is there to establish?” The stress she places on the last word mirrors the ferocity of her stare. 

“Lindsey,” Scully interjects with a smooth tone, “could you start by telling us what you’ve seen?”

Lindsey’s gaze trails off to the side, and her head tilts as if she’s trying to conjure up the vision in her mind. “I don’t even know how to describe it,” she says finally. “It’s like a shadow that doesn’t belong. There’s no light to cast it when it’s there, no object to, um, cause it. But it’s there, watching, waiting. When you see it, it feels like a black hole, like it’s sucking you in. Pulling you closer. It kind of stuns you for a second, because its pull is so strong, but then the air gets cold. So cold, like you’re suddenly in the middle of a snowstorm and you can’t breathe ‘cause it hurts your lungs. That’s when you snap out of it, and you run.” 

“Why do you run?” Scully keeps her voice gentle, encouraging. 

“Because you have to.”

“Do you ever see this shadow during the daytime?” Mulder asks.

“No,” Lindsey whispers, “only at night.” 

“Why do you think that is?”

“Who knows?” she asks with a shrug of her shoulders. “Maybe it likes the dark. Isn’t that how it works, anyways? Ghosts only come out at night.”

“There’ve been claims of hauntings happening at all hours, daytime as well as at night,” Mulder says.

“Well not this one.” 

“When did you first see the shadow?” Mulder asks.

“I don’t know,” she answers with an exasperated sigh.

“Can you try to remember?” he pushes. “Was it a few days ago? Weeks ago?”

“I said I don’t know,” Lindsey snaps. “Look, are we done? I have homework to do.”

“Um, yeah,” Mulder mutters. “We can continue this later.”

“Great.” 

She gets up from the couch and walks towards the stairs, then stops abruptly when she reaches the bottom step and sighs loudly. “Thanks for doing this,” she mumbles turning towards the agents. “I mean, coming out here and trying to stop it and everything.”

The agents nod, and Lindsey ascends the stairs before they can say another word to her.

“Well, that was…” Mulder pauses, searching for accurate wording.

“Rough,” Scully provides. “When comparing her version to Claire’s, Mulder, I think Lindsey’s hiding something.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, thoughtful. “But the question is, what?”

xxxxx

It isn’t much later when Scully is carefully refolding her slacks from the day before and tucking them in her duffle, while Mulder sits perched in the chair munching on sunflower seeds. The crack of each shell snaps crisply in his mind where an unfamiliar sense of failure lingers. His thoughts trail from the family to their claims, then to their fear. Nearly twenty-four hours later, and they’re leaving them empty-handed. 

“Stop that,” Scully says with her back still turned to him.

“What?”

“You’re pouting.”

He groans. “We needed more time, Scully. We’re abandoning them.”

“They only asked for one night. We’ll stay in contact with them, and we’ll follow up in a few days,” she suggests with a soft voice. “Maybe urge them to seek guidance from the church. We tried, Mulder.”

“I can’t shake the feeling that we missed something,” he says when there’s a gentle knock at the door.

“Dana? Mulder?” Claire calls through the guest room door.

“Come on in,” Mulder says. 

Jack and Claire open the door, but instead of entering the room they stand in the doorway. Mulder smirks as he shoots a quick glance towards Scully. They stand shoulder to shoulder, blocking their exit. It’s as if they’re creating a human barricade, refusing to let them out until they provide answers. 

“We’ll be leaving shortly,” Scully says. “Just double checking that we didn’t forget anything.”

“That’s actually why we came to see you,” Claire says. Her voice is uneasy with nervousness, nearly an octave higher than usual. She clears her throat. “We, Jack and I, were hoping we could talk you both into staying for one more night.”

Scully sits on the edge of the bed and folds her hands into her lap. 

“It’s probably asking a lot of you,” Claire continues, “and it’s okay if you say no, but we were just thinking that maybe if you stayed one more night…” 

“Maybe we would see something?” Mulder asks. 

They nod. “We’re not crazy,” Claire adds.

“Of course you’re not,” Scully says sympathetically.

“We don’t mean to put you out or anything,” Jack adds, “it’s just that we’re at the end of our rope. I don’t- we don’t know what else to do. You’re really our last hope.”

Mulder leans forward in the chair, placing his elbows onto his knees, and looks at Scully. They hold their stare for a moment before Scully nods once. 

“We’d be happy to stay another night,” Mulder says. “We’ll just have to run back to our apartments to grab another change of clothing.”

“Dana? Would you mind staying and having a cup of tea with me?” Claire asks.

Scully glances at Mulder. “Would you mind going alone?”

“As long as there’s no lecture on ditching you in the morning,” he says with a smile.

A look of confusion flashes across Jack’s face as Claire’s brows furrow. 

“Don’t mind him,” Scully says with a chuckle. “I’d love to.”

Mulder dons his jacket, jiggling the keys in his pocket. He leans down and kisses Scully’s cheek. “Be back in a few.”

XXXXX

She is nearly asleep when her phone rings. Her hand fumbles across the guest room’s bedside table, her fingers groping foreign items in the wrong places before she’s able to press ‘talk’ and silence the shrill tone.

“Scully.” The faux alertness that masks the exhaustion in her voice is a skill she perfected years ago, when calls in the middle of the night became the new normal. 

“Shit, I woke you,” Mulder says, and Scully smiles. Of course he would know. 

“S’fine,” she answers through a yawn, then glances at the clock. “Mulder, it’s after 11pm. I’m positive you know your way around my undergarments better than that.”

He chuckles. “I was in and out of your apartment within 10 minutes, if that’s any indication. I stopped by to see the boys afterwards.”

“What did they have to say?”

“Nothing really worth noting,” he responds with a hint of disappointment. “I’d asked them to run a check on the property, scan the history for any deaths. No suicides or homicides recorded, however, back in the 1950’s there was a death in the backyard.”

“Foul play?”

“It was listed as natural causes.”

Scully rolls onto her back, adjusting the phone to make sure she heard him clearly. “Natural causes in the backyard?”

“Apparently,” he says. 

She sighs. “Occam’s Razor, Mulder. The simplest explanation is a shared paranoia experience.” 

“That’s the simplest solution, Scully?”

“Fear is a strong emotion, especially when it’s of something you feel the need to protect your children from. Whether it’s real or not.”

“It’s real to them,” Mulder says. “Especially Joey.”

Scully nods absently, agreeing. “It is, but no one has claimed to actually see anything other than him, an 8 year old boy who could very well be suffering from an over-active imagination.” He’s silent on the other end. If it weren’t for the ticking of his turn signal she would question if the call was still connected. “Mulder?”

“I’m still here,” he responds quickly. “I’m just thinking… what you said is possible, probable even. Tragic deaths, however, have been known to result in a haunting. The spirits are prone to unrest.”

“Natural causes, Mulder,” she reminds him.

“You don’t think that dropping dead in the backyard would be considered tragic?” he asks.

Scully yawns again, then mutters, “Maybe for those that were present to witness it.”

“Think of the unfinished business, Scully. No time to prepare or make amends. No time to say his goodbyes. Hell, he probably didn’t even get to finish mowing his lawn or tending his garden or whatever he was doing. If his death was as sudden as the records imply, he has probably stuck around and is just wandering the property, confused. He could be earthbound, for all we know, just waiting for- Scully? Hey, Scully, you there?”

He hears her inhale sharply then a husky, “M’here.”

“Did you fall asleep on me again?”

“That happened one time, Mulder,” she says with an sigh. “You need to let it go.” 

“Go back to sleep,” he says after a moment. “I’ll be there soon.”

“‘Kay,” she says as her finger presses ‘end.’ Her phone lands with a thump on the bedside table. 

 

Xxxxx

Scully wakes with a start, jarred past the limbo that lingers between sleep and reality, and is thrust immediately into the present. Her heart races and her skin is slick with sweat as she sucks in a breath and holds it, willing her body to calm down. It takes a moment for her eyes to adjust in the darkness, but as they regain focus she takes in her surroundings, familiarizing herself with the dark guest room. 

The chair with Mulder’s jacket and belt slung over the back.

The bedside table with an alarm clock that reads 3:03am. 

The closet with its door open.

Her eyes fixate on the closet as the realization penetrates her brain. It was closed when she went to sleep, she is sure of it. Yet now, there it is, ajar.

Her mind buzzes with sudden alertness as she mentally retraces her footsteps before falling asleep. After saying goodnight to Claire she had used the restroom, changed into her pajamas, talked to Mulder, and then fell asleep. She distinctly remembers avoiding opening the door out of respect for the family and their personal belongings. She tenses, looking around the small room when she hears a gentle rustling coming from inside of the closet. 

Tck, tck, tck

Her mind works quickly, trying to decipher the sound. It’s not the rattling of clothes hangers or the rustle of clothing rubbing together. It’s a light clicking sound, repetitive, with a beat that is steady and constant, like a metronome marking time. 

Tck, tck, tck, tck, tck

The blanket falls to Scully’s lap as she eases herself into an upright position, her eyes never leaving the few-inch gap between the door and the jam. 

Tick, tick, tick, tick, tick

As the seconds pass, it begins to grow louder and more pronounced, and she gasps, realizing with a start that it’s not a mundane noise at all. 

“Tick.”

“Tick.”

There’s someone in the closet saying the actual word, tick, mimicking the noise of a clock.

“TICK, TICK, TICK”

She winces as she turns on the lamp, her eyes aching as they fight to adjust to the sudden brightness that floods the room. It only takes a moment for her to jump out of bed and thrust the closet door wide open, her nose instantly assaulted with the musky odor of mothballs. Clothing hangs from end to end along a wooden rod, packed tightly in the small space. She pushes flannels and jackets aside, and a high-pitched scream erupts through the house.

“Nooooo!”

She dashes out into the hall to see Jack and Claire dart by, rushing to their son’s room, and she follows. 

“He was here!” Joey shrieks as his father sweeps him into his arms. “Daddy, he was in my room!”

“It’s ok, bud,” Jack murmurs. “I’m here, I’ve got you.”

“You can sleep with us tonight, sweetie. It’s gonna be alright,” Claire mutters against his hair as she hugs her son and husband. 

Scully stands in the doorway, and feels the sudden warmth of Mulder’s hand on the small of her back. 

“He ok?” Mulder asks quietly.

“He’s terrified. He says someone was in his room.”

Mulder nods, then edges past her, crossing to the window. He jerks it a little.

“It’s locked,” Jack says.

“Yeah, just figured I’d double check,” Mulder responds as he opens the son’s closet and peers inside, then closes it. 

Scully leans into the door jam and takes a deep breath, watching as Mulder inspects the rest of the boy’s room while his parents attempt to calm his sobbing. 

“Another nightmare?” 

Scully turns to see Lindsey leaning against the wall a few feet away, then asks, “Has he been having a lot of those lately?”

“That’s what we thought at first,” Lindsey says with a shrug. 

“And what do you think now?”

Lindsey’s eyes narrow, a look of disbelief flashing across her face as she says, “What I told you before...”

Scully’s eyebrow rises and she opens her mouth to speak when Lindsey continues. 

“Oh, don’t look at me like that, Miss Scully. I’ve talked to my friends, you know, and they all agree. We need to get out of here, we need to move. My parents seem to think that if we ignore it that it’ll leave, but that’s clearly not helping,” she says, gesturing towards her brother. 

“Lindsey, young boys have nightmares-”

“It’s getting worse! You don’t know because you’re not here all the time, but it’s getting worse every single night, not better! We ignore it, they talk to the church, they bring in the damn FBI, but it’s still here. Don’t you see, Miss Scully? He- It won’t stop! The only option we have left is to leave!”

Lindsey pushes past Scully and into her brother’s room. 

“Come on, kiddo, you can sleep with me tonight.”

“Linds-” Jack starts to say.

“We’re fine, dad,” she says, pulling her brother into her arms. 

“He was really here,” Scully hears Joey mutter to his sister as he wraps his arms around her neck. “You believe me, right?”

“Yeah,” Lindsey says as she exits his room, leaving her parents and the agents behind. “I do.”

Jack and Claire start to follow, but stop in the doorway. “Sorry for how she talked to you, Dana,” Claire says as she touches Scully’s arm. 

“It’s fine, really. She’s upset, it’s understandable.”

“She wasn’t like this before all of...” Claire says, then looks to her husband to finish her sentence. He smiles a weak smile. “This.”

After a quick pat to Scully’s arm, Claire wishes Mulder and Scully a good night’s sleep. Jack offers her a silent nod, and then follows his wife to their bedroom.

“Hey, Scully, take a look at this,” Mulder says as he stands next to Joey’s bed.

She takes her place next to him, and he points at a picture on the boys bedside table. 

“He’s quite the artist,” she says.

Mulder chuckles. “Yeah, some imagination.”

“What about it, Mulder?”

“When I talked with him earlier he mentioned someone. No name, just ‘Him.’ Joey couldn’t give me much detail-”

“Couldn’t?” she asks with a raised brow.

“That’s what he said. Not wouldn’t; couldn’t. But look at this.”

“That would give me nightmares, Scully.”

“You think that’s who he’s seeing at night?”

“Call it a hunch. See these bold strokes? That and the large black eyes, both are signs of distress.”

“Decoding children’s drawings as a pastime, Mulder?”

“Nah, art therapy. Just a subject covered briefly during my time at Oxford.”

“The entire family has been under a great deal of stress recently. I’m not surprised that it’s reflecting as such in his artwork.” She pauses to take one last look at the drawing, then turns and begins to walk towards the door. “A stress that could also be the cause of his night terrors.”

“I don’t think it’s night terrors, Scully,” Mulder says as he follows her to the guest room. 

“Nightmares, sorry,” she says as she hesitates next to the closet, then closes the door. “I’m tired, Mulder.”

Mulder pulls the covers over her shoulders after she climbs into bed and kisses her cheek. “Get some sleep. We’ll talk tom-”

The moment is interrupted by a loud crash downstairs. Scully jerks upright, staring at Mulder, and asks, “What was that?”

He shakes his head and they head out the door, nearly tumbling into Jack and Claire as they approach the landing at the top of the stairs.

“You guys ok?” Jack asks as he fumbles to tie his robe shut. 

“Where are the kids?” Claire asks.

“Right here,” Lindsey says while walking towards them from her room, Joey holding her hand. “What was that? Is someone in the house?”

“Back to your room, Linds,” Jack urges. “Stay with your brother.” Jack looks to Mulder as a look of confusion brushes over his face. “I locked the doors…” 

“Stay up here with your children,” Mulder says. “We’ll head down-”

“Like hell you will,” Jack says as he pushes past Mulder and descends the stairs. “If there’s someone in my house-”

“Jack!” Claire calls.

“-I want to know about it!” Jack finishes.

Mulder and Scully rush to follow him down the stairs and into the living room, and come to an abrupt stop. 

“What the-” Jack mutters.

“Jack,” they hear Claire say as she comes up to them. “You need to listen to- Oh my God!” 

What was once a cozy, inviting living room is now almost unrecognizable. The two plush couches are stripped of throw blankets and cushions, their frames pushed against the outer walls of the room, alongside the coffee table. Two chairs that previously sat nestled together are now at opposite ends of the room, both facing a corner like mischievous children sent to time-out. 

Standing boldly in the center of the floor is a pyramid of household items that nearly reaches the ceiling, stacked with absolute precision. At the base lay thick couch cushions with the end table placed squarely on top. From its surface rises empty picture frames, strategically positioned to resemble a house of cards, bearing the weight of a crystal Tiffany lamp that shines brightly from the highest point. Its amber glow splashes a flowered print across the ceiling, the design stretching and distorting at its furthest reach, while the lamp’s cord is wound tightly around its metal base. 

Family portraits that were once showcased inside of the frames now lay around the base of the structure; a perfect ring of captured familial moments encircling it, like a moat around a castle.

“Who did this?” they all hear Claire whisper, but are too stunned to answer. Too astounded to take their eyes off of what lay before them. 

Lindsey’s rapid footfall on the stairs announces her arrival before she calls, “Mom? Dad? Is everything ok-”

The adults gasp simultaneously as the pyramid comes crashing down to the ground. Mulder quickly pulls Scully back as the lamp shatters from the fall, and Claire breaks down in tears.

“Whoa, what happened?” Lindsey asks as she finally enters the room, and then rushes to her mother’s side. “Mom?” 

“Lindsey, careful!” Jack yells. “There’s glass all over the place and you’re barefoot.”

She ignores her father while she tends to her mother, rubbing her back with reassuring whispers that it’s going to be ok.

“Lindsey, where’s your brother?” Mulder asks as he pulls a nonplussed Scully into his arms. She hasn’t uttered a word since they entered the room, however her wide eyes and slack jaw speak volumes to him. 

“Upstairs in my room, he’s fine.”

Jack rubs his hands over his face with a loud sigh of defeat. “Hey, Linds, could you take your mother upstairs? I, uh, I gotta clean this up.”

Lindsey takes her mother by the hand and leads her out of the room but stops at the bottom of the staircase. “Dad?”

“Not now, sweetie. Upstairs, please.”

With a quick nod, she ascends the stairs, pulling her mother with her.

“Jack, let me grab my shoes, and I’ll help,” Mulder says before casting a quick glance at Scully. She nods once. “We’ll help you clean up the mess.”


	3. Sunday

DOMBROWSKI RESIDENCE  
EARLY SUNDAY MORNING

The rising sun is just beginning to peek through the curtains by the time the furniture is back in place, and they’re confident every last shard of glass has been picked from the carpet. As she sits at the edge of the guest bed, Scully rolls her neck, loosening the taut muscles that run the length of her spine. 

“Nice of them to let me share the guest room with you,” Mulder says as he climbs in behind her and pulls her arm gently, urging her to lay down beside him. “I don’t know that I want to be sleeping on that couch and risk being used as the bottom of another paranormal totem pole.”

Scully smiles weakly. “About that…”

“I thought we covered this a few years ago, Scully. We don’t need to build a tower of furniture to strengthen our relationship or communication skills.”

“No, no, that wasn’t what I was going to suggest.”

“Thank God.”

“There’s something in this house, Mulder,” she says quickly, the words forced out in one quick breath, like ripping off a bandaid. 

“After tonight’s events, I’m inclined to agree.”

“No, you don’t understand. I, um, this wasn’t the first...paranormal event that I’ve witnessed in this house. I didn’t want to believe it at first; I’d justified it with the family’s anxiety getting to me. But after everything I’ve seen...” She pauses. “I can no longer deny what’s staring me in the face.”

Mulder leans up on his elbow and turns her face towards his. “Whoa, Scully, wait a second. What did you experience? Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

“Because, Mulder,” she says with a sigh. “I didn’t give it any merit at first,” she says before recounting the events of the night before. He rolls onto his back and listens intently until the dip in her voice signals that she’s finished. When he doesn’t respond, she whispers, “Mulder?”

He chews on his bottom lip, staring at the ceiling. He sighs deeply. “Yeah…”

“Don’t you have anything to say?” she asks, her voice as thin as the proverbial ice she feels she’s skating on. She can feel the disappointment radiating off of him in waves. Disappointment in what, however, she’s unsure.

Refusing to look at her, his eyes remain glued straight ahead of him. “I thought we were past this.”

“Past what, Mulder?”

“This,” he says with a wave of his arms in the air. “You withholding from me, keeping me at arm’s length. If you were to ask me months ago if this was expected, then my answer would have been ‘absolutely.’ But now? Now, Scully? No way in hell. After everything we have been through together-”

“Mulder, please keep your voice down.”

“-and after what we have become, I expected more from you. I expected you to know that you can trust me with something like this. I know I’ve made mistakes with you in the past, but I’ve apologized for all of them multiple times. Sincere, genuine apologies. I don’t know what more you want from me, what more I can do to prove to you that-”

“Mulder, please,” she whispers harshly as she presses her hand over his mouth. His eyes widen as he shifts his face towards her, his voice muffled behind her fingers. 

“Listen to me,” she says sternly. His breath feels warm against her hand as he sighs, but she keeps her hand positioned until she sees him nod. “I trust you more than anyone, Mulder-”

“But Scu-” Her hand again stifles his argument.

“No, Mulder, let me talk.” He sighs again and closes his eyes. She keeps her hand in place. “All of my life I’ve built walls, kept myself guarded. It was easier to keep others out and remain isolated, than to let someone in and risk being hurt.”

His eyes soften significantly as she continues. “That changed when you and I became intimate. For the first time in my life, Mulder, I wanted to let someone in. I don’t intentionally hold you at arm’s length, but it’s going to take me some time to get comfortable being so...vulnerable. I need for you to understand that I’m trying. I’m really trying, Mulder.”

A smile spreads across her face as she feels him press a kiss to the palm of her hand. She removes her hand slowly, trailing her fingers down to cup his cheek, then kisses him gently. 

“Ok?” she asks.

His fingertips brush along her hairline as he tucks a stray piece of hair behind her ear. “I’m sorry, Scully.”

“Me too.” 

Scully lays into him, resting the side of her face against his chest as he wraps his arm around her. His heartbeat thuds slowly beneath her, and she counts each beat. 1,2,3,4…

He presses a kiss to the crown of her head, and whispers, “I just have one question.”

She chuckles. “What’s that?”

“Scully,” he says hesitantly, “are you sure that what say you experienced-”

“You don’t believe me?”

“No, I-”

She pulls back enough so she can see his face. “Fox William Mulder, the man who jumps to defend the existence of vampires and El Chupacabra, is actually questioning my-”

“No, Scully, that’s not what I’m doing. I believe you, I do.”

She stares at him, her eyes narrowing as they sweep over his face before meeting his eyes. In them she sees understanding, acceptance. She then sighs and lays back down. “What’s happening here, Mulder?”

“Between us, or in the house?” he asks.

“The house.”

“Hmm, my guess is a poltergeist,” he says as he settles his head back onto the pillow. 

Scully turns and wedges herself against his side, laying her head in the crook of his shoulder, and whispers, “A noisy spirit.”

“Given what we know, it makes sense. Adolescent girl going through puberty, teenage angst, inside and outside of the home stress, that’s a high amount of negative energy. All together it’s the perfect recipe to form a poltergeist from the epicenter’s kinetic energy.”

“Resulting in the knocking, the footsteps, the furniture being rearranged,” Scully adds.

“Yep.”

“But doesn’t a poltergeist traditionally center on one person? The epicenter, as you call it?”

“Yes, while also affecting the rest of the family. What are you thinking, Scully?”

“Between his drawings and his claims of someone in his room at night, Joey seems to be more than just affected by this.”

“It impacts everyone differently,” Mulder says.

“Or it could be something else.”

“Such as?”

“I don’t know, a regular spirit, maybe? The man who died in the 50’s?” Scully yawns. “I know I need sleep when your wild theories start making sense, and I have little to no rebuttal.”

“True. You aren’t any fun to spar with when you’re tired,” Mulder says as he yawns as well. 

Her eyes ache with exhaustion and she’s nearly asleep when she hears him whisper, “Hey, Scully?” and hums in response.

“Why is it that yawning is so contagious?”

“Good night, Mulder.”

 

Xxxxx

“Mom! Rosie’s here!” Lindsey calls out from the foyer.

“Well, have her come in for a second,” Claire yells from the kitchen. “I’m almost done ironing your jacket.”

The chaotic intensity from the night before has given way to a sullen complacency. Mulder and Scully sit wearily at the kitchen table nursing their second cups of coffee of the morning, while Jack and Joey still sleep in the master bedroom upstairs. 

“Rosie?” Mulder asks.

Claire smiles, and then cocks her head towards the front door. “Lindsey’s best friend. She’s 16 going on 30, that one.” The iron hisses and spits a puff of steam as it’s dragged across a sleeve. “Just got her driver’s license a few months ago, and I let her take Linds to the mall. It’s not too far, just around the corner actually, and it gets my teenager out of my hair for a few hours. There we go,” she says as she pulls the jacket from the ironing board and gives it a swift shake. 

Mulder nudges Scully’s shoulder and takes a large gulp of coffee. “Mind if I go say hi?”

Claire smiles and hands the jacket to Mulder. “Of course not. Give that to Linds, would you? Dana, would you like some more coffee?”

Mulder walks into the living room to see the girls sitting side by side on the couch. After setting the jacket on the armrest nearest LIndsey, he crosses the floor and seats himself in a chair opposite them. 

“Rosie, is it? I’m Mulder.”

Rosie flips her long dark hair over her shoulder and smiles sweetly. “I’ve heard. Lindsey warned me that some FBI agents were staying with her. You’re much better looking than I expected.”

Lindsey swats her friends leg. “Ew, dude, stop. He’s old.” She looks over at Mulder and shakes her head. “Sorry, she has no shame. She’ll flirt with a lamp post if you let her.”

“Would not!” Rosie squeaks, her cheeks blushing pink. 

“Don’t make me dig out the picture, Rose. He’s an FBI agent, he’d appreciate that I have evidence.”

“No need,” Mulder says with a chuckle and his hands held palms out. “But did Lindsey happen to mention why we are staying here?”

Rosie shrugs.

“It seems that there’s been some strange occurrences lately,” he provides. 

“Oh,” Rosie says simply. “Sounds...strange.” 

“Have you witnessed anything out of the ordinary?”

“Like what?” Rosie glances towards Lindsey, then back at Mulder. “I don’t usually stay very long when I’m here. Just pop in to pick up Linds, so like five, ten minutes max.”

“I guess you wouldn’t have had the time to witness anything then,” Mulder says.

Rosie stares at him intently, chewing her bottom lip. “Nope.”

“Look,” Lindsey says quickly, “I don’t mean to be rude, but we have friends waiting for us.”

Mulder stands and gestures towards the door. “Of course, better not keep them waiting much longer.” 

The girls stand, grabbing their belongings, and begin to head towards the front door.

“Hey, Lindsey, when did you think you were going to be home?” Mulder asks.

Lindsey’s eyebrows furrow. “Did I miss the memo that says investigating includes parenting? Like a buy one get one free?”

“Just curious.”

“I don’t know, like an hour or something,” she responds with a dramatic eye roll, and ushers her friend out the door.

 

Xxxxx

 

“What do you call a bear with no teeth?” Joey asks through giggles while he slaps his hands on the dining room table out of excitement. 

Mulder leans over to Scully and pretends to whisper in her ear, shielded by his hand. Scully shakes her head, then pretends to whisper in Mulder’s ear. 

“No way, Scully,” Mulder says in mock disgust, then turns to Joey. “Alright, we give up.”

“A gummy bear!” Joey yells, then throws his head back and laughs. 

“See, Mulder?” Scully says with a laugh. “I told you it wasn’t a grizzly bear.”

“A grizzly bear!” Joey shrieks, and stares at Mulder wide eyed. “No way, they have huge teeth!”

“Not the old ones. They don’t make dentures for old bears, so I bet they look just like this,” Mulder says, then tucks his lips between his teeth. Joey mimics him, drawing laughs from Jack and Scully. 

“What’s going on in there?” Claire calls from the kitchen.

“Muffing, Mom!” Joey yells, his lips still tucked.

“What?” she calls.

They all laugh again and Jack yells, “Nothing, hon. Just a bunch of toothless grizzlies.”

“Nevermind, I don’t wanna know!” she yells back. 

The front door slamming shut announces Lindsey’s arrival, the household’s light atmosphere darkening significantly. Jack shakes his head as she enters the room, pointing at the door as she takes her place at the table across from Mulder and Scully. 

“Sorry, Dad,” she says with an eyeroll as she drops her bag next to her chair.

“How was the mall, sweetie?” Claire asks, her voice as warm as the steaming casserole dish she places in the center of the table. Browned cheese bubbles around the edges, the entre emitting a delicious scent that sends Mulder’s stomach grumbling. 

Lindsey fills a portion of her plate with tossed salad, then passes the large bowl to Scully. “It was fine.” 

“I thought Rosie would stay for dinner,” Claire says as she takes her seat next to her husband. “Maybe even sleep over.”

“What do you kids do at sleepovers these days?” Mulder asks Lindsey, who ignores him. He smiles and presses on. “When I was your age, we would ride our bikes until the street lights came on, sneak in some MTV, play Monopoly or the Ouija board. But I’m sure times have changed.” He glances around the room as it falls silent, noticing that all eyes are focused on him, including Scully’s. “What?”

Jack clears his throat, then shuffles a bit in his seat. “That’s not a game that we play under this roof.”

“The Ouija board?” Mulder asks. 

Every member of the family nods except for Lindsey, who appears more interested in the food she’s pushing around her plate. 

“What about you, Lindsey?” he asks, continuing even as he feels Scully kick his foot under the table. “You ever played with an Ouija board?”

Lindsey finally meets his gaze with a smile spread across her face, one that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Never.”

“I’ve always been terrified of those kind of things, personally,” Claire says. “All of it gives me the heebie-jeebies, ever since I saw The Exorcist as a teenager.”

“Scully’s favorite movie,” Mulder quips as he grasps her hand and gives her fingers a squeeze. “Right?”

Claire’s eyes grow large. 

“He’s joking,” Scully says, reassuring her. “My favorite movie is Breakfast at Tiffany’s.”

“What’s The Exorcist, Dad?” Joey asks.

“A scary movie that you won’t be watching,” Jack says. “You know the rule, if your Mom can’t watch it, neither can you.”

Joey groans. “That’s not fair, though, because she gets scared just from security system commercials.”

Everyone laughs, even Claire as she hides her reddening face with her hands. “It’s true,” she says through her fingers, “they terrify me.”

“So, Lindsey,” Mulder says as the laughter dies down. “You said that you hadn’t ever played with a Ouija board?”

“Mulder,” Scully whispers, kicking his foot again.

Jack and Claire look to their daughter with raised eyebrows, waiting for her response. Lindsey sighs and rolls her eyes. “I said no.”

“I mean, it happens,” Mulder continues with a veil of nonchalance spread thinly over his loose accusation. “Kids your age are curious about everything, rebelling against their parents and authority figures, trying to find their place in the world. I know that curiosity got the better of me a few times when I was your age.”

Lindsey clenches her fork in her hand while staring at her plate, her jaw muscles tense as she remains quiet.

“Mulder, stop,” Scully leans over and whispers harshly.

“Kids at my school have used them,” Joey chimes in. “They said scary stuff always happens afterwards. Kevin, a kid in my class, he said he had scratches down his arms the next day.”

“Joey, it’s just a stupid board game,” Lindsey says. “Your friends are lying to you.”

Mulder sets his fork next to his plate and wipes his mouth with his napkin. “Well, now see that really depends on your beliefs. If someone believes that something can happen, it can happen. The power of suggestion. The mind is an incredible thing.”

Joey’s mouth drops open. “Wow, like a super power.”

“Yeah,” Mulder says winking at the boy. “Something like that.”

Lindsey stands and pushes her chair backwards. “May I be excused?”

“You’re not hungry, sweetheart?” Claire asks.

“No, not anymore. My brain must be powerfully suggesting that my stomach is full,” she says straightfaced while looking at Mulder. Scully closes her eyes and bows her head. 

“Lindsey,” Jack warns.

“May I be excused?” Lindsey repeats. 

Jack mutters his approval, and she walks out of the room in a huff. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset her,” Mulder says upon her exit, hoping his half-truth comes across as genuine. His theory that Lindsey was hiding something is now a certainty, his determination to reveal that mystery taking precedence over politeness.

“You’re fine,” Jack says. “Somedays it takes absolutely nothing to set her off, it seems. Just asking about her day can send her spiraling into a tirade about the injustices of parenting.”

“It’s a tough age,” Mulder says, nodding. He turns to Scully and offers her a smile. She chuffs and returns to the plate of dinner before her. 

The table eases into a comfortable silence as everyone finishes dinner, each lost in their own thoughts. When Claire leaves to collect coffee for the adults, Jack asks what the plan is.

“We were hoping to stay one more night, if that would be alright with you,” Mulder says. “I was hoping to bring in a few recording devices and set them up over night.”

“What did you have in mind exactly?” Claire cautiously asks as she enters the room. A tray of mugs and a carafe of coffee is placed in the center of the table before she reclaims her seat. 

“Considering Joey’s claims of witnessing an apparition, we were thinking of placing a few video and voice recorders, perhaps multiple, around the house,” Mulder explains. 

“Video?” Claire asks.

“It’s been suggested that video recorders, or a camcorder, have the ability to digitally capture an apparition,” Scully clarifies.

“I don’t know that I would feel comfortable with video,” Claire says. “I’m sorry, but with having a teenage daughter in the house…”

“Of course,” Scully says. “That’s perfectly understandable.”

“I wouldn’t be opposed to a voice recorder, though,” Claire says as she looks to her husband. Jack agrees. 

“We could place it in the living room for the night, see what it picks up,” Mulder suggests.

“What about Joey’s room?” Jack offers. “Wouldn’t his room be better with everything that’s been going on?”

Joey shrinks down in his chair, but remains silent.

“Well,” Scully starts, “we wouldn’t want to be intrusive.”

Jack looks to Claire for approval, then back to Mulder and Scully. “Not intruding at all. He’ll be sleeping with us or Lindsey anyways, so there shouldn’t be an issue.”

“As long as Joey doesn’t mind,” Mulder says, gesturing to him. 

“It’s fine,” Joey mutters.

 

Xxxxx

 

Lindsey’s mind reels as she sits cross-legged on her bed, Mulder’s questions still at the forefront of her thoughts. As she throws herself back onto her pillows, the orange battery light that blinks on the side of her laptop catches her eye. With a huff, she reaches over and pulls her laptop onto her lap. With a few swipes of the keyboard, she logs into AOL Instant Messenger, hopeful that Rosie is signed on.

LiNdZ<3 signed on at 06:04:55 PM

LiNdZ<3: I’m starving LOL  
LiNdZ<3: bring me a burrito from El Cozumel  
r0sebud7: negative   
r0sebud7: Macbeth report due Monday  
LiNdZ<3: you suck  
r0sebud7: no dinner?   
r0sebud7: that’s not like Claire  
r0sebud7: U there  
LiNdZ<3: yeah  
LiNdZ<3: she made dinner, I didn’t eat  
r0sebud7: Y not?  
LiNdZ<3: FBI man started asking more questions  
r0sebud7: he’s hott  
LiNdZ<3: gross, Rose  
r0sebud7: srsly tho. U didn’t say anything did u?  
LiNdZ<3: of course not, stupid  
r0sebud7: sry babe g2g  
r0sebud7: paper won’t write itself  
LiNdZ<3: lame bye 

Lindsey closes her laptop, and roughly pushes it aside. She reaches for her portable cd player, puts on her headphones, and closes her eyes, shutting out the rest of the world.

 

LAIR OF THE LONE GUNMEN   
UNDISCLOSED LOCATION, MARYLAND  
8:45 PM

Mulder pounds on the door while looking directly at the camera. “Come on guys, let us in. You knew we were coming.”

The stench of stale french fries hangs heavily in the air as they’re ushered inside, and it’s eerily quiet. 

“Where is everyone?” Mulder asks Frohike as they stand around a table that sits cluttered with books and loose papers. Scully pulls a sheet closer, glances at the bolded words and chuffs. 

BREAKING: SWAMP THING TERRORIZES FAMILY IN LOUISIANA BAYOU

“They’re around here somewhere,” Frohike answers. 

“You sure you don’t want video?” Langly asks as he enters the room, carrying a large box in his arms. “We got some new infrared cameras that are so high tech, they will catch even the sneakiest of crop-dusters.”

Frohike jerks the box from his arms and places it on a desk. “Dude, not in front of the lady.”

“Is that something you need to surveil regularly?” Mulder deadpans.

Frohike snorts as he starts digging through the box. “Living with these guys? Definitely.”

“So,” Scully starts, quick to change the subject, “about that recording device…”

“Right! Byers, where did you put the- here it is.” Frohike says as he untangles the cords that have wound around it and waves it in the air. “Now it’s really just your basic small recording device.”

Mulder inspects the handheld recorder, then asks, “No special instructions?”

“Correct, amigo. Just place it on a flat surface, and hit record. You said this was to collect an EVP?”

“Yeah,” Mulder says as Scully purses her lips. 

“Electronic Voice Phenomenon,” Byers muses. “You look skeptical, Agent Scully, but this phenomena has been highly researched for many years. Did you know that the first ever documented EVP was captured by a Swedish film producer by the name of Fredrich Jurgenson in 1959?”

“I didn’t,” she answers, slightly surprised.

“Well, it goes back even further than that,” Byers continues. “Back to the 1920’s actually.”

“Thomas Edison,” Scully says with a smile that plays at the edges of her lips.

“Correct.” Byers beams, unable to hide the fact that he’s impressed. “Doctors and other intellectuals have been trying to record the voices of spirits for 80 years now.”

“There’s been scuttlebutt about a real-time device, something that would give us the ability to communicate in real-time, but nothing seems to have panned out just yet,” Frohike says. He gathers the miscellaneous items and cords, and drops them back into the box. 

“Fancy,” Mulder says as he slips the recording device in his pocket. His hand finds Scully’s lower back, and he guides her towards the door. “Thanks boys, we’ll be in touch.”

“If you guys do manage to catch something,” Langly says, “using our software, we could encode the MP3 and playback the file on our PC.”

Byers nods. “Just bring it back here. Most recordings need to be cleaned up, the voices isolated.”

“That’s if we catch anything,” Scully says with a smirk as the door closes behind her. 

 

DOMBROWSKI RESIDENCE

 

Lindsey plasters a smile on her face as her parents take turns kissing her cheek, as Joey runs out the front door. 

“You’re sure you don’t want to come for ice cream? We’ll let you get two scoops,” Claire says.

Lindsey shakes her head. “Maybe next time. I’m just going to lay down, and finish some homework. I don’t want to wait until the last minute.”

Jack pats her back. “That’s my girl. We’ll bring you home a scoop of Rocky Road.”

“Thanks, Dad,” she says with a smile, then gestures towards the door. “Better hurry, I think Joey’s halfway down the road by now.”

Her parents kiss her one last time and walk out the door. As soon as she hears the deadbolt slide into place, she runs up the stairs and into her bedroom. From underneath her bed she pulls an orange shoebox, and tosses the lid aside. Alone in the box sits a white sage smudge stick and a small dish. The dried leaves have a greyish tint and are wrapped tightly with string.

Evie, the cashier at the Blue Moon Gallery, had told her and Rosie that sage was perfect for cleansing a house from an unwanted spirit. 

“A vengeful, earthbound spirit,” Evie said between snaps of her gum. “They’re the worst. Just take this around your house, and concentrate real hard on vanquishing them.”

“I have to do every room?” Lindsey had asked.

“Well, yeah, and don’t forget the doorways.”

After a few basic instructions were written down for Lindsey, Evie had taken her cash and sent her on her way with nothing more than a wish of good luck. 

The lighter’s flame burns steadily against the tip of the sage, burning brightly before its eventual snuffing. The end smolders, sending thin swirls of pungent smoke to billow around her face. She grimaces at the earthy odor it produces, waving the scent from her face with her hand as she begins her journey from room to room. 

This is going to work, she thinks. God, I hope this works. 

 

DPC PRODUCTS  
9:37 PM

The door chimes as Mulder and Scully step through it, announcing their arrival to the receptionist, a young woman, sitting behind a large desk in the center of the lobby. A few plain looking chairs line the walls, meeting in the corner at a table with a stack of magazines sitting on top. The room is brightly lit, a stark contrast from the dim parking lot they just parked in.

The woman looks up from a computer with a mild look of surprise on her face, then asks with a smile, “Can I help you?” 

Mulder and Scully flash their badges. “Agents Mulder and Scully,” Mulder says. “We spoke with Frank Gonzales yesterday-”

“Ah, Gonzo. He’s not here, if that’s who you’re looking for. Works first shift.”

“He said there would be some documents left here for us,” Scully says.

“Oh! Right, yeah. Hang on a sec,” the receptionist says as she begins to rummage through the stack of files off to the side. 

Mulder shifts his weight from one foot to the other, watching as she flips open a folder, looks at its content, then discards it to the side. Family photos litter the edge of the desk with miscellaneous office supplies scattered throughout, the entire surface of the desk is a cluttered mess. He taps his finger at the edge of the desk and says, “Your nameplate is missing.”

The woman laughs, tossing her long blonde hair behind her shoulder. “Don’t need one. Everyone who comes through that door knows who I am,” she says as she discards another folder. “Well, everyone but the two of you- Aha! Here it is.”

She flips the file closed and hands it to Scully, adding, “It’s Grace, by the way. Grace Atkins.”

“Grace, how long have you worked here?” Scully asks.

“It’ll be eight years this November,” Grace replies as she leans her hip against the desk. “They treat me good here, and work around my school schedule. I take classes at the community college in the mornings, so they let me work second shift so I can stay full-time.”

“What are you going to school for?” Scully asks.

“Paralegal,” she responds with a proud smile. She stares at the agents for a moment, her smile fading, then asks, “Do you mind me asking why you need Jack’s time cards?” 

“Just for verification,” Mulder answers quickly. 

“You’ll see that he’s been picking up extra shifts,” Grace says pointing to the file in Scully’s hand. “He’s a good man. I’ve known Jack for a long time; everyone here is like one big happy family. When his wife was laid off, we all knew times would be tough for him, so Frank offered him overtime. We pulled together donations from the employees, just any extra money they were willing to part with, and tried to give it to him.”

“A kind gesture,” Mulder says.

“I suppose so, but he wouldn’t accept it,” Grace says with a shake of her head. “He appreciated it, of course, but Jack’s a proud man, never one to take handouts. He said as long as he was working, his family would be fine.”

Scully opens the file and flips through the first few pages. Upon quick glance she notes that each copy contains a time and date stamp in the top left corner, followed by the employee’s name. The dates listed in the center provide the weekly pay period from Sunday to Saturday, with the total hours worked at the bottom of the time card. Each week noting at least 15 hours of overtime, confirming Jack was telling the truth and unequivocally disproving the theory of an extramarital affair. 

“We all good?” Mulder asks.

Scully nods. “This appears to be everything we needed. Thank you, Grace.”

“No problem,” she replies. “You two need anything else, you just come on up here to see me. I’m here until 11 every night.”

With a nod of thanks, the two agents walk through the door and towards their car. 

 

DOMBROWSKI RESIDENCE  
10:22 PM

The lights are dimmed and it’s quiet in the Dombrowski household as Scully closes the front door behind them gently, and slides the deadbolt into its place. Mulder follows closely as they climb the stairs to the guest bedroom, walking softly to not disturb the silence that has settled throughout.

“Everyone went to bed pretty early,” he muses while setting a duffle bag in the chair. “After last night, the peace is almost unsettling.”

Scully hums in agreement as she removes her jacket and shoes. “It’s been a rough few days for them.”

“Few weeks,” Mulder corrects. 

Scully notices a slip of paper laid in the center of the pillows.

“I changed the sheets for you, and there are leftovers in the fridge if either of you are hungry. Thank you again for everything. 

Sleep well, Claire”

“I’m going to run and put the recorder in Joey’s room,” Mulder says as he crosses to the door. “Back in a sec.”

Scully turns down the bed while he’s gone, and is snuggled under the covers by the time he returns. He eases himself into bed behind her, smiling at her hum as he wraps his arm around her, pulling her close. 

 

Xxxxx

 

Scully is awakened to the sound of footsteps in the hallway. Rather than the steady, heavy footfall she’s heard before, these sound clumsy and uneven, less weighted. Even still, she’s unable to stop the feeling of dread that forms in her lower belly. Mulder sleeps as she listens closely to the path they take as they pass their bedroom and continue towards the stairs. 

“Mulder,” she whispers.

He grunts and pulls her closer. 

“Mulder, wake up,” she says softly while nudging him. “It’s the footsteps again.”

Mulder rolls to his back, staring at the ceiling as he listens intently. Wordlessly, he climbs from the bed and crosses to the door, opening it a few inches. Scully sits up, her heart racing as she watches him peek his head out of the doorway, holding her breath as the footsteps come to a halt. 

The seconds tick by as she waits for him to turn and announce that nothing is there, that the hallway is empty. The excitement she feels at his prospected affirmation mingles with the dread within her belly, the sudden intensity sending bile to rise to the back of her throat like a flash flame raging viciously through an underground tunnel. She brings her hand to her mouth as beads of sweat form along her hairline, and forces deep breaths through her nose, concentrating on the hum of his low-pitched voice. 

He’s talking to someone, she realizes as he closes the door.

“Hey, are you ok?” His hand is immediately on her back, rubbing slow circles. “Talk to me, Scully.”

“I’m fine,” she says with a deep sigh. Her belly begins to settle, her nausea quickly retreating. “Who was it?” 

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” she says, lying to cover the shame she feels at having such a strong physical reaction. Always the level headed one of the two, she’s confident that no one would ever accuse her of jumping to hasty conclusions or blatantly overreacting. The residual burning in her throat, however, would tell a different story. It’s this house, she thinks. And their departure tomorrow can’t come fast enough. “Must have been something I ate. Who was it, Mulder?”

He gingerly climbs back into bed, careful not to jostle her, and pulls the blanket over his shoulders. “It was just Lindsey going to get a glass of water from the kitchen.”

“At this time of night?”

He gently tugs at her arm, urging her to lay down with him. “When you’re thirsty, you’re thirsty.”

Scully lays down next to him, his deep breaths lulling her to sleep. 

 

xxxxx 

 

It feels like ages since Lindsey’s walked through the dark house alone without the security of a night light or a candle. The silence no longer feels threatening, subdued by the dread of what was yet to come. The moon is cloud covered, offering no light as the soft pat, pat, pat of her barefeet sound across the kitchen floor, but she walks with a liberated determination to the sink.

The faucet hisses as she fills her glass with water, and she smiles. Finally free from the confines of torment, no longer having to worry about making too much noise and what it might attract. Excitement bubbles within her, threatening to pour over as she lifts the glass to her lips.

Her excitement is short-lived. It starts without warning between her shoulderblades; the hairs along her back slowly begin to rise, traveling up her neck to the base of her skull. A shiver ricochets, sending goosebumps racing down her arms and to the lowest point of her spine. She closes her eyes and takes a few deep breaths, reassuring herself that the sage smudging had been successful. 

A familiar anxiety starts to prick in her chest, like searing hot needles underneath her ribcage. Her heart begins to beat faster as her breaths become shallow and quick. She tries to force herself to ignore the sensation, and continues to slowly take measured sips of water. 

The overwhelming urge to turn around gnaws at the back of her mind, the compulsion nearly as powerful as the feeling that someone is standing behind her. 

Watching her. 

Her glass clangs as she hastily sets it on the edge of the countertop, then dashes out of the kitchen towards the stairway in the foyer. As she passes the entrance to the living room, movement near the couch catches her attention, and she freezes. The temperature of the room drops significantly as she stands there paralyzed with fear, refusing to shift her gaze in the direction of the movement. 

If she hadn’t known what she was looking for, she might have missed it. But there it was, the darker than pitch-black silhouette lingering menacingly just a few feet away. 

Out of the corner of her eye, she watches as the shadow near the couch mutates, its edges abnormally shifting and turning. She stifles a scream as it continues rolling and protruding, as if someone was caught prisoner inside of its inky depths, and desperately trying to escape. 

A buzzing noise fills her ears as the shadow rotates towards her, slowly inching in her direction, its darkness spreading like spilled oil as it closes the distance. She gasps as she feels her arm lift from her side, slowly raising towards it. 

“No,” she whimpers.

Her knees buckle and shake as she attempts to step away, her feet heavy as if they were filled with cement. The buzzing in her ears grows louder, shifting to static as the air thickens. She struggles to breathe as the shadow begins to surround her, its darkness sucking the air from her lungs, suffocating her.

Somewhere in the distance a glass shatters, it’s sound piercing through the trance and she drops to her hands and knees. She gasps, gulping in air as she crawls towards the stairs. Upon reaching the first step, she stands and begins to sprint, taking them two at a time. Behind her, the first stair creaks under an unseen weight. Then the next, then the next. 

She sprints to her room, shutting the door behind her as heavy footsteps begin the journey down the hall, following the path she’d just taken. They grow louder the closer they get, each boom of footfall a steady countdown to another sinister encounter. 

Her hands are shaking as she fumbles to grasp the lighter between her fingers, and she groans as she struggles to gain control. The sparkwheel rolls under her thumb, but produces no flame. 

“No, no, no,” she repeats to herself as the lighter fails, sputtering rapid flickers of sparks that die out as soon as they’re ignited. She glances towards the door as the footfall comes closer, mere steps away from her bedroom. “Please light, oh God, light!”

Thud

Thud

Thud

Finally, the flame from the lighter catches, burning strong and steadily, and she hurriedly lights a candle. Just as the dim light surges like a tsunami through her dark bedroom, the footsteps stop just outside her door. Her hands continue to shake as she lights the two remaining candles, then she thrusts herself flush against her headboard and waits. 

She waits for the sound of the weight to shift in the floorboards, waits for the sight of her doorknob turning, waits for it to make its final entrance.

But nothing happens. After a few minutes of peace, her body falls slack with exhaustion, the tide of adrenaline ebbing from her system, and she tumbles into her pillows. She pulls her laptop from underneath her, and logs into AOL Instant Messenger, desperate to talk to someone. 

LiNdZ<3 SIGNED ON AT 2:13AM  
LiNdZ<3: Rosie  
LiNdZ<3: It’s still here


	4. Monday

DOMBROWSKI RESIDENCE  
MONDAY

Lindsey is unusually somber in the morning, laying in bed until well past breakfast, refusing to come out of her room. She doesn’t budge when Claire taps on the door, or when she sneaks in quietly, doing her best to not create a scene. These days Claire’s unsure of the best way to proceed with her daughter, seeing as the simplest of things can set her off, so she walks on eggshells and prays for the best. 

It wasn’t always like this. She remembers what it was like when they were able to communicate, when they were able to talk openly about whatever was on their minds. It was only a few weeks ago that they would discuss her daughter’s life over morning coffee, making plans for college applications and guessing which football player was next on Rosie’s boyfriend list. She sighs to herself, wishing for the days when life was easier. Wishing for the days when her daughter wasn’t a complete stranger.

She tiptoes across the floor and seats herself at the edge of her daughter’s bed. “Come on sweetheart, you need to get up. It’s after 10.”

Lindsey keeps her eyes closed. “Don’t want to.”

“Are you feeling alright?” Claire asks as she places her hand on her daughter’s forehead. “It doesn’t feel like you’re running a fever.”

She sighs as Lindsey continues to lay still, motionless. 

“Lindsey, you can’t stay in bed all day. It’s your last day off before school tomorrow. Don’t you have any homework?”

“I finished it,” she replies simply.

Claire remains seated for another moment, then leans forward and presses a kiss to her cheek. “Alright,” she says softly as she walks to the door. She turns before walking out and adds, “I’ll come back and check on you in a little while. You rest.”

Lindsey doesn’t respond.

xxxxx

Mulder, Scully, Jack, and Claire are all seated in the living room, as Mulder presses ‘PLAY’ on the voice recorder. Static floats through the small speaker for a few minutes before he finally stops the recording. 

“Did you listen to the entire thing?” Jack asks.

“I did,” Mulder says sheepishly. “I woke up a few hours before everyone.”

“And? Anything?” Jack asks, unable to hide his excitement.

Mulder shakes his head, and they watch Jack’s demeanor deflate. “All I’m getting is static, unfortunately.”

Claire beams and taps her husband’s arm. “That’s a good thing right?”

Scully nods, but Mulder’s answer conflicts her positivity. 

“Depends,” he says. 

A look of confusion crosses Claire’s face. “What do you mean?”

Scully turns to look at Mulder, also confused, waiting for him to continue. 

“It means,” he says finally, “that either you don’t have something in your house, or that there is something here that just doesn't want to talk.”

They all stare at Mulder, dumbfounded. Jack leans towards Mulder, tapping his finger on the table and says, “But we clearly have something here, there’s really no other explanation. You both were there, you saw what it did!”

“We did,” Mulder says with a nod.

Scully turns away, biting her lip. She fights the urge to state that they’re not sure what they saw, that their experiences alone aren’t definitive proof of anything. 

Jack stands, and his feet shuffle along the floor as he begins pacing. “So, what you’re saying is we have a mute ghost that doesn’t like to be put on the spot. Heck, maybe we should have let them use the cameras, Claire.”

“But, Lindsey…” Claire protests, visibly stricken.

He pauses in the middle of the room, and rubs his hands over his face. “I know, I know.” 

“We’re going to take it to some friends of ours, people we trust with this sort of thing, and see what they’re able to extract,” Mulder says, hoping his words are able to offer some hope. 

Jack turns to look at him and asks, “You mean there could be something on there that we can’t hear?”

“It’s unlikely, but it’s possible,” Scully says slowly. 

Jack crosses the room and takes his seat next to his wife. “Ok, yeah, that sounds great.” 

Claire smiles with relief, then stands and walks towards the kitchen. “I’ll start some coffee.”

Jack follows his wife, mumbling an offer to help. Once they’re out of the room, Scully turns to Mulder and keeps her voice low.

“Mulder, there’s nothing but static. Why are we taking it to the Lone Gunmen?” 

“That was the plan originally.”

She chuffs. “With the stipulation that we caught something…” 

Mulder leans his elbows to his knees, pursing his lips. He turns the device over in his hand and presses ‘FF,’ then ‘PLAY.’ He does this a few times, absentmindedly, the static cutting into their silence in short, intermittent bursts. The last time he lets it continue a moment longer, then stops. 

“Did you hear that?” He asks. He turns the volume up and plays it again. 

Scully leans closer, putting her ear a few inches from the speaker. “That? Um, a rustling maybe?” 

“Yeah, it’s something.”

“Mulder,” Scully starts as she leans back into her chair. “It’s probably their daughter. Lindsey woke up in the middle of the night, you spoke to her. It must have captured her leaving her room.” 

“Could be,” he says, nodding. “Let’s have the boys take a listen and see what they’re able to come up with. Just humor me, Scully.” 

She smiles. “I always do.”

 

LAIR OF THE LONE GUNMEN  
UNDISCLOSED LOCATION

“OK, so I’ve uploaded the MP3 into our software, and isolated and trimmed down the recording. I did my best to clean it up and reduce the background noise,” Langly explains as he clicks his mouse a couple times. “It’s still a little muffled.”

They all huddle around the computer, and watch as the line on the monitor goes from a flat baseline reflecting the low white noise that emits from the speakers, to a spike in the audio line and a displaced sounding voice slices through the silence. 

“Did you hear that? What did it say?” Byers asks.

“Play it again, Langly,” Mulder states. 

“Let me clean it up a bit more…” Langly mutters. “Ok, here we go.”

They all lean close to the speakers as the recording plays again. 

“Something the dark?” Mulder asks.

“Yeah, that’s what I heard,” Frohike says. 

“No, that’s not right,” Scully says, then motions towards the computer’s monitor. “Again.”

Langly obliges, and it plays once more.

“Into...” Scully’s voice fades as her brows furrow. “Into the dark...Come into the dark.”

Langly and Byers take a step back from the computer. Frohike whistles lowly as he leans into the desk, then asks, “Where was the device located?”

“Their son’s bedroom,” Scully answers slowly as she stares at the device wide eyed. “He was sleeping with his parents; his room was empty.”

“You’re sure?” Frohike asks.

“Absolutely,” Scully says.

 

XXXXX

 

DOMBROWSKI RESIDENCE

Mulder taps on the door, and it’s immediately opened to reveal a somber looking Jack. 

“We need to talk,” Jack says, ushering the two agents inside.

“Everything okay?” Mulder asks, exchanging concerned glances with Scully as they enter the living room. They’re met with a visibly upset Claire who dabs a tissue at her reddened eyes as she paces the floor, and Lindsey and Rosie sitting side by side on the large couch. 

“Not really,” Jack says as he sits on the other couch. Claire takes her place next to him as Jack motions for Mulder and Scully to take a seat in the chairs. They sit. 

“Lindsey,” Claire says in a hushed tone. “I want you to tell Mulder and Miss Dana what you just told us.”

Scully relaxes into her chair as Mulder leans forward towards the girls, his elbows placed on his knees.

“This is, um,” Lindsey starts, pauses momentarily to look at Rosie, then sighs. “This is our fault.”

Scully tilts her head to the side slightly, then asks, “How so?”

“Start from the beginning, sweetheart,” Jack says. 

“Well, a few weeks ago, Mom and Dad took Joey on a retreat that our church was hosting. I wasn’t feeling good, so I asked to stay home. I mean, it was just an overnight thing, not like they were gonna be gone for the whole weekend or anything. 

“A few hours after they left, though, I was feeling better. I think my fever broke or something, I don’t know. Anyways, I called and asked Rosie if she wanted to come stay the night. I was kinda worried about being home alone, I’d never been home alone for that long before.”

“You said you’d be okay,” Claire says softly to her daughter.

“I was,” Lindsey says quickly. “I was okay, and then, I dunno, I wasn’t. I figured I’d feel better if I had someone else here, and Rosie stays the night all the time, so I thought Mom and Dad wouldn’t care.”

“She stays the night all the time?” Mulder asks Lindsey, then shifts his gaze directly at Rosie. Both girls stare back doe-eyed, then finally nod. 

“You weren’t aware that Rosie had stayed the night?” Scully asks Jack and Claire. 

“We didn’t have cell service at the retreat, so she wouldn’t have been able to call and ask permission,” Jack responds. 

“You didn’t tell your parents when they came home the next day?” Scully asks Lindsey. 

“No.”

“Why?” Scully asks gently.

“I didn’t think it was a big deal,” Lindsey answers. She then casts a pleading look to her parents, “I really didn’t. I didn’t think you’d care.”

“So, then what happened?” Scully asks.

“We got bored pretty quickly,” Lindsey continues, “so Rosie suggested we play a game.”

“The Midnight Man,” Rosie says, speaking for the first time since Mulder and Scully sat down. When Mulder and Scully look at her confused, she adds, “The game, that’s what it’s called. My cousin told me about a friend of hers who played, and it totally freaked her out.”

“It was harmless,” Lindsey says. “It’s just a stupid game that people play at sleepovers and whatever.”

“What’s the premise of the game?” Mulder asks.

“You, uh...” Lindsey starts.

“You invite the Midnight Man into your house to chase you in the dark,” Rosie finishes. 

Claire whines softly and leans into Jack, who promptly puts his arm around his wife. Mulder and Scully catch the look of shame that crosses Lindsey’s face as she watches her father embrace her mother. 

“I’m so sorry, Mom,” Lindsey whispers as her hands fidget in her lap.

“Ladies,” Mulder says, “who is this Midnight Man?”

Lindsey’s mouth opens as she starts to say something, but then closes it tight and purses her lips. 

“He’s like a demon or something,” Rosie says. 

“A demon?” Claire cries. “How could you... Lindsey, we’ve discussed this so many times; no seances, no tarot cards, and definitely no Ouija boards. Not in this household. What on God’s green earth made you think that playing this game was okay?”

“Is this normally an area of interest for you, Lindsey?” Scully asks.

“No!” Lindsey answers. “I know better.”

“Honey,” Jack says with a tone of warning in his voice, “you knowingly invited the Devil into our home. Clearly you don’t know better.”

Rosie stares at her hands in her lap while Lindsey groans and rolls her eyes. “You’re being dramatic, Dad. It wasn’t like that.”

“That’s exactly what it’s like, Lindsey,” Claire says. “Games like that are not to be taken lightly. They’re dangerous.”

Mulder clears his throat. “Could you tell us about the game?”

“Like how you play?” Lindsey asks.

He nods. “Walk me through it, from the beginning.”

Lindsey sighs and leans back into the cushions of the couch. “You gotta begin before midnight. Like, I dunno, ten or fifteen minutes, I guess? Long enough to do all the preparation stuff. You write your name, your full name, on a piece of paper and then sign it with a drop of your blood.”

“Your blood? A blood oath?” Mulder asks.

Lindsey shrugs. “If that’s what you call it, yeah. Then you go and turn off all the lights in the house, because it has to be completely dark. Put your paper in front of a door-”

“A wooden door,” Rosie says.

“Right,” Lindsey says nodding, “a wooden door.”

“Why wooden?” Scully asks.

“Because the directions say so,” Rosie snaps. 

“Anyways,” Lindsey interjects, “you light your candle and put it on the paper, then knock on the door twenty-two times. The last knock has to be at the stroke of midnight.”

“Exactly at the stroke of midnight,” Rosie says. “Then you open the door, blow out your candle, and then close the door.”

“And then immediately relight your candle.”

“Lindsey,” Claire says, her voice weak with surprise, “that’s why...all of your candles. All this time.”

Lindsey nods. “Yeah.”

“What happens after you relight your candle?” Mulder asks.

Rosie glances at Lindsey for a moment and then says, “Then the game begins.”

Scully places her hand on Mulder’s bouncing knee to still it while the girls sit quietly. Whispers between the parents that had started softly grow more frantic, with Claire gesturing towards their daughter while Jack shushes her. 

“Mom, I’m sorry,” Lindsey says.

“Oh, honey,” Claire says with a resigned sigh. “I know you are.”

“Lindsey?” Scully asks. “What is the object the game? How do you win?”

“You have to keep moving. You can’t let him get you,” Lindsey answers.

“How do you know if he’s getting close?” Scully asks.

“Your candle will blow out.”

“Did your candle blow out when you were playing a few weeks ago?” 

Lindsey and Rosie both nod.

“How many times?” Scully asks.

“Like 5 or 6?” Lindsey replies.

“Ha,” Rosie chuffs. “More like at least 10. We could barely keep our candles lit!”

“Well if you weren’t breathing so heavily, maybe-” Lindsey starts.

“Me?” Rosie shrieks. “Linds, you were breathing so heavily that you put the Big Bad Wolf to shame. Thank God I stole one of my mom’s new lighters; I would have been out of lighter fluid and sitting in a circle of salt an hour in.”

“A circle of salt?” Scully asks. 

Claire nudges Jack and whispers, “That’s where my salt went!”

“Yeah,” Rosie says. “You carry it with you in case you can’t get your candle relit within 10 seconds. Like a circle of protection. You make the circle and sit in it for the rest of the game.”

“And how do you know when the game ends?” Scully asks. 

“At 3:33am on the dot, it’s over,” Lindsey says, then shrugs. “It just ends.”

“And this Midnight Man, he just leaves,” Mulder states.

Both girls nod.

“Except,” Mulder adds, “this time he didn’t.”

“We must have done something wrong,” Lindsey says while shaking her head. “We followed all the rules, didn’t we Rosie?”

“Well, I mean, yeah,” Rosie says. “My cousin did say that he’s supposed to leave at the end, but that by inviting him in there’s always a chance that he might not, ya know, go.”

Mulder glances at Scully, who’s already looking at him with her eyebrow raised. 

Lindsey gasps. “Wait, what?”

Rosie looks at her friend, and asks, “What?”

“You never told me that!” Lindsey exclaims with piercing eyes as she backs away from Rosie a few inches. 

“I did!” 

“No, Rosie, you didn’t! I wouldn’t have ever played this stupid game in the first place if I’d have known-”

“Girls,” Claire warns.

“-that he might not leave!” Lindsey finishes with throwing her hands in the air.

“Whatever, Lindsey, this isn’t my fault, it was just a game-” Rosie says.

“That’s torturing my family, Rosie!” Lindsey yells.

“Girls!” Claire yells over the arguing, and they fall silent. “Now is not the time.”

“But Mom-” Lindsey starts.

“No,” Claire says pointing at her daughter. “The game was played, this Midnight Man was invited into our home, and we need to end this. You two bickering isn’t going to solve anything, so just knock it off.”

As they both utter apologies, Mulder turns to Scully. She offers him a tight smile, then turns to the parents and says, “I think we need to talk to the church. See if we can get them involved, request for them to cleanse the house.”

“You really think that’s the only solution?” Jack asks.

“Jack, Mulder and I feel that’s the best solution here,” Scully says as Mulder nods in agreement. “We don’t possess the experience, nor the proper training, to perform the exorcising of a house.”

“Isn’t there someone else you could call? In your line of work, you must know of someone,” Jack says.

“I could make a few calls, ask around,” Mulder responds, “but it could take me a few days to find someone with the right credentials and training.”

“I’ll fix it,” Lindsey says quietly. 

The adults turn to look at her.

“What?” Jack gasps.

“I’ll play again,” Lindsey says with a quick glance at Rosie, who’s mouth is agape. “I’m going to fix it by playing again.”

“By inviting him back in?” Claire shrieks.

“How can you be sure that it’ll work?” Scully asks. 

“He’s already here. Playing the game is what brought him here, so maybe playing again will make him go away. It has to work,” Lindsey says staring directly at Scully, trying her best to keep her voice from wavering by sitting up straighter. “It has to.”

“Lindsey, I don’t-” Rosie starts.

“No, Rosie. I’m playing alone this time. Just me.”

Jack stands suddenly, jerking his chair back. “No, this...it can’t be the only way. No way, not again, young lady. You can’t do this!” he nearly yells pointing at his daughter. 

Mulder stands and interjects. “We will.”

“You’ll what?” Lindsey asks

Scully looks quickly to Mulder, her eyes wide. He glances back at her, then turns his eyes to the parents. 

“Rosie and Lindsey can write down the directions for us. Jack and Claire, you two take the kids to a motel tomorrow night.”

“Mulder,” Scully starts, and grabs his hand.

“Scully.” 

“You would do that?” Jack asks.

“We couldn’t ask you to,” Claire says.

Mulder squeezes Scully’s hand gently, his eyes pleading with her. “Scully,” he repeats.

She licks her lips and then shifts her gaze to the parents. “We’ll play.”

 

Xxxxx

 

It’s just after 11pm when the family is bustling around the house, gathering last minute belongings before their late night departure. The few phone calls placed to nearby hotels earlier in the day had all produced the same response; no vacancies due to the pharmaceutical sales convention. Thankfully, Claire had said after placing the receiver in it’s cradle, her mother was a night owl, and was more than happy to put them up for the night. 

Lindsey stands in the foyer with her shoulders slumped forward, and her eyes focused on the toe of her shoe. She barely looks up as her mother calls out a ‘thank you’ and shuffles past her out the front door. Or as Jack passes her to cross into the living room and shakes hands with Mulder and Scully.

“I don’t think she can get out of here fast enough,” Jack says with a nervous chuckle. “I can’t thank you enough, both of you, for doing this.”

“Not a problem,” Mulder says. “Just have a safe trip, and we’ll see you in the morning.”

“If you have any issues at all, here’s the number for where we’ll be staying,” Jack says as he slips Scully a piece of paper. “My mother-in-law is hard of hearing, so the ringer will wake us out of a dead sleep if you call.”

“We’ll be fine,” Scully reassures him. 

Jack smiles and shifts the strap of the duffle bag on his shoulder. “Be safe, you two,” he adds softly before turning to exit out the front door. 

Joey ambles into the living room where Mulder and Scully stand, wearing his jacket and a backpack full to the hilt with toys. 

“We’re going to grandma’s for the night.”

Mulder squats down. “Yeah, I heard that. Should be fun, right?”

“She has a dog named Gunner,” he says excitedly, then looks to Scully. “Do you like dogs, Miss Dana?”

“I do,” she answers as she squats down next to Mulder. “I used to have a dog, Queequeg.”

Joey’s eyebrows furrow and his nose scrunches. “What kind of dog is that?”

Scully chuckles. “Queequeg was his name.”

“Oh,” he says nodding his head. 

“Joey, come on,” Lindsey calls gently from the front door.

“One sec,” Joey yells. Mulder is surprised when Joey leans in and wraps his arms around his neck. “You’re gonna make him go away, right?”

“We’ll try, buddy,” Mulder says as he rubs small circles on Joey’s back. “We’re really gonna try.”

“‘K,” Joey responds meekly as he pulls back, allowing Mulder to stand and help Scully to her feet. 

“Come on, Joey,” Lindsey calls again. “Mom and Dad are waiting.”

Joey throws his arms around Scully’s waist quickly, but before she can place his hands on his back to return the show of affection, he’s disconnected and running out the front door. 

Moments later, Mulder and Scully walk around the house, turning lights off one by one. As they continue from one room to the next, the atmosphere gradually turns unsettling as the darkness grows behind them, seemingly chasing them into the last bit of remaining light. 

“You don’t think this is a waste of time?” Scully asks as they flick the light off in the master bedroom. “If there is something in this house as a result of a game, playing the game again doesn’t necessarily mean that it’ll leave.”

Mulder follows her out of the room and they begin descending the stairs. “It’s more two-sided than that. Most people tend to believe that if you ignore a spirit, it’ll go away. If the Dombrowski’s believe that whatever is haunting their house is gone, perhaps it really will leave. No more negative energy to feed it.”

Scully leads him into the kitchen where their supplies sit on the countertop. “Do you still believe that it’s a poltergeist?”

“I don’t know,” he answers honestly. 

“What was the other side?”

“To what?” Mulder asks.

“You said our playing was two-sided.”

“Ah, right,” he says as he hands her a pen. “It could really be the Midnight Man, and perhaps our playing his game will effectively terminate his stay.”

“You make it sound like their house is the Holiday Inn,” Scully deadpans as she proceeds to write her name on a piece of paper. “So, we’re the sacrificial lambs in this situation.”

Mulder pulls a pocket knife out of his pocket and lays it on the counter between them. “Better us than their fifteen-year old daughter.”

Scully stares at him for a moment, then picks the knife up, flips it open, and takes the blade to her finger. A small bubble of blood pools under the tip.

“Not wasting any time, are we?” Mulder asks.

Scully wipes the blood under her name on the paper, then hands him the knife. “Like you said, Mulder. It’s better that it’s us.”

 

xxxxxx

 

The second hand on Scully’s watch strikes midnight just as Mulder knocks from the inside on the front door for the twenty second time. 

“Twenty-two right?” Mulder asks.

“Yes.”

They open the door and blow their candles out per the instructions, then close and lock the door behind them. Mulder pulls a lighter from his pocket and relights their candles. They stand side by side in the foyer gazing into the dark house, and Scully can’t shake the nervous flutters in her belly. The last few nights have wreaked havoc on her nerves, and the idea of walking through someone else’s home for three and a half hours, in the dark no less, doesn’t thrill her. She just wants to get this over with and go home. With a sigh, she crosses into the living room and sits on the edge of the couch. 

“What are you doing?” Mulder asks, walking towards her. “The rules say we need to keep moving.”

“Since when do you follow rules, Mulder?”

He stands in front of her, the toes of his shoes brushing her own. “Scully.” 

Scully leans back into the couch and cautiously rests the bottom of the candle on her thigh. “I’m waiting. If I sit still, the Midnight Man will show up, right? So, let’s get the introductions out of the way.” 

She doesn’t fight Mulder as he grasps her hand, and allows him to pull her to her feet. She doesn’t argue as he slowly leads her into the dining room. It’s an odd sensation to be led through someone else’s dark home, she thinks. Uncomfortable. Foreign. If it were her own apartment, she would be able to do it with ease, just as she has many times before. Scully can think of several nights where she’s done exactly this, knowing when to turn just so in order to miss the corner of the entertainment center, the exact path to take to the bathroom without stubbing a toe on her dresser. 

Mulder’s apartment, however, with all of the clutter that sits stuffed into corners and at the ends of the couch, she’d be asking for a broken ankle. 

“Did you ever play games like this as a teenager, Scully?”

“We tried a few,” she replies as they sidestep a chair at the table. “Bloody Mary, a seance or two, light as a feather.”

“Did any of them work?”

“No,” she chuckles. “They lifted me about half an inch from the floor, which resulted in my friend Gwen going to the hospital to get a splint for her sprained finger.”

They weave around the back of the table, and cross the threshold into the kitchen. The air still smells warm and spicy, like the baked apple pie Claire had made the evening before. Even with the homey aroma, Scully still feels on edge, as if she’s waiting for someone to jump out from around the corner. Each turn they’ve made, however, has revealed nothing but the next room. 

“Want some water or something while we’re in here?” Mulder asks.

“I’m fine,” she responds.

The floorboards creak under their feet as they continue their journey through the lower level of the house. As she follows him back to the front of the house, Scully’s heart begins to thud in her chest as the distance between them and the staircase shortens. 

Don’t be ridiculous, she tells herself as they approach the first stair. It’s just a stupid game.

Just then, her candle begins to flicker from an unseen rush of wind. 

“Mulder, I think my candle’s about to go out.”

He looks back, then wordlessly hands her the lighter just in case. He gestures towards the staircase, silently asking if she would like to go first. She rolls her eyes and squares her shoulders in feigned confidence, then pushes past him.

“Better move quickly,” Mulder teases as she passes. “When your candle blows out it means he’s close.” 

“It didn’t blow out, Mulder. It just flickered.”

She can feel the warmth of him directly behind her as she takes the stairs slowly, the glow of their candles lighting their way. It still radiates against her as they stand at the top landing, but she doesn’t move. The hallway stands long before her, all of the doors still open from their first foray earlier when they turned off all the lights. 

A ball forms in her upper belly as she stares down the corridor, one she can’t quite place. The hallway seems to grow in length under her gaze, drawing out before her eyes. She feels Mulder’s hand graze her lower back, urging her on, and the feeling rushes through her forcefully.

Fear. 

“Scully,” he whispers.

She shakes her head upon feeling his breath against her cheek and inhales sharply, pushing the paralyzing emotion aside. “Yeah, let’s go.” 

Mulder keeps close behind her as they take their time walking down the hallway and through each room on the upper level. Scully is relieved to find everything in order as they push on, a comfortable silence falling between them. Later when they find themselves in the living room, back where they started, Mulder scoffs at the realization that only an hour has passed.

“Maybe we’re missing something,” he ponders. 

Scully sits on the couch. “What do you mean?”

“Nothing’s happening,” he says with a clear hint of disappointment in his voice. “Maybe we missed a step, can I see the paper?”

Scully pulls it from her pocket and hands it to him. “We didn’t miss anything. We did exactly as was written.”

He runs down the paper, mumbling as he reads. “Salt.”

“Hmm?”

He taps the paper and says, “We forgot to grab the salt.” 

“For the circle of protection,” she replies. “That we haven’t needed. Because nothing has happened.”

Mulder hums noncommittally in response as he walks towards the kitchen with Scully in tow. He rummages through a few cupboards until he finds a small container of salt, and slips it into his pocket. 

As they journey through the house another time, Scully marvels at the feeling of ease that settles through her. The fear has dissipated, the anxiety that had crippled her earlier has now melted into boredom. She passes a glance at Mulder as they climb the stairs to the upper level again, noticing his change in posture. He’d started out determined, giddy even, she thinks. But now his shoulders hang, and she knows that his slow pace has nothing to do with the fact that the game calls for it. 

“What do you think would draw Lindsey to a game like this?” Mulder asks.

Scully shrugs. “Like you said, curiosity. Rebelling against parents who tell you not to do something.”

“Her parents just seemed so appalled. It’s been drilled into her for years not to-”

The light in the room dims under the glow of a single candle as Mulder’s candle extinguishes. 

“Scully…”

“Relight it, Mulder.”

“I can’t find the lighter,” he says, patting his pockets. 

A shiver dashes over Scully’s body as the room grows colder, her eyes immediately darting around their surroundings, searching for the source of the chill. 

“Mulder…”

“I’m working on it, Scully.” 

A creak in the hallway catches her attention, and she turns back to look out the door way. Another creak sounds, closer than the last. Her heart begins to beat rapidly in her chest as her eyes stay glued to the room’s entrance and the darkness that lay stagnant behind it, waiting for something to appear. 

When she turns to call for Mulder, he’s already at her side relighting his candle using the flame of her own. His free hand skims across her hips, his fingertips lightly brushing over her hipbones. 

“Now’s not really the time,” she says dully with a raised eyebrow. 

He smirks as his hand slips into her pocket and pulls out the lighter. 

“Did you feel that?” he asks. “The temperature dropped.” 

“It’s an old house,” she says. “Drafty”. 

“Must have been one hell of a draft to blow my candle out, Scully.” 

She stares at him, unsure of what to say. Scully shuffles her feet with pursed lips, shifting her weight from foot to foot. After a long beat of silence, Mulder motions for her to follow him to the lower level.

“How much longer do we have left?” Mulder asks as they pass the front door.

“About an hour and a half,” Scully says after glancing at her watch. “We’ll have walked every inch of this house 20 times by the time 3:33 am rolls around.”

“The basement,” Mulder says suddenly. “We haven’t walked the basement.” 

Tucked in the back corner of the kitchen sits a nondescript wooden door. It’s discreet, easy to look past if you’re not looking for it. She follows Mulder down the narrow stairway, her hand sliding down the concrete walls to maintain her balance as she steps deeper into the depths of the household. Faintly, she can hear Mulder chatter nonchalantly about the lowest level of the house, warning her of battered shelving and items scattered throughout. 

The air is significantly cooler, moist at the end of the stairway. Somewhere in the distance she can hear the faint hum of a dehumidifier running, though judging from the the hair already curling around her face, it’s hardly doing its job. Mulder grasps her hand, pulling her deeper into the dark, dank basement. 

The concrete floor is lined with wooden shelving, housing cardboard boxes that are slightly warped from moisture and plastic bins labeled with holidays span the length of walls. The brush of something across her face startles her, and she jerks backwards brushing her hand briskly across her face. 

“Oh God,” she mumbles.

“You ok?”

“It’s just, I think…” She brushes her face again. “...it’s a cobweb.”

Mulder holds his candle close to her face and helps pick off the remaining sticky bits. “Better?”

She hums in response, momentarily stunned by his face in the candle light. His features less defined by the harsh light of the world, softened. His hazel eyes glow under the flickering light, giving him an angelic look. 

Her hand snakes up his chest and her fingers curl around his collar, pulling him to her, bringing his lips to hers. His mouth is warm, a stark contrast from the cool air that surrounds them, and she hums under his touch. 

“When do we go home?” he asks, his face still close to hers. 

“In the morning,” she muses as his hand travels down her back and across her ass.

They’re interrupted by a heavy thump above them, followed by dragging across the hardwood floor, sounding as if someone dropped a piece of furniture then lugged it across the room. 

“Did you lock the door when you closed it?” Mulder asks as he heads back towards the narrow stairway.

Scully nods, “Of course.”

“Are you sure?” 

“I’m positive, Mulder.”

They climb the stairs quietly, and emerge in the kitchen. All of the furniture appears to be in place as they inspect the lower level, all couches and tables accounted for and in their appropriate places. 

“Mulder, there’s nothing here,” Scully states as he checks each dining room chair for evidence of movement. 

“Just one more-”

Thump

Mulder and Scully both look to the ceiling.

“Upstairs,” Scully whispers.

As they climb the stairs to the upper level, the nervous flutter in Scully’s belly returns, growing with each step she ascends. She covers her mouth to stifle a gasp as she turns to peer down the hallway. 

Every door that lines the hallway is now closed. Each bedroom, the bathroom, even the closet. 

“We didn’t…” Scully starts.

“No,” Mulder whispers, “we left them open.”

Mulder turns the knob to the master bedroom, then stops to peer at Scully. “Do you want to stay here?”

“I’m going with you.”

Her anxiety rises with every closed door they come to, crescendoing with each turn of the knob, reaching climax as she crosses the threshold, only to crash as they declare each room clear. The rollercoaster of emotion has her exhausted as they approach the last room, Lindsey’s bedroom. 

The door opens silently before them as they approach it, swinging ajar a few inches before they’re able to grasp the doorknob. Scully stops mid-step and grabs Mulder’s arm, pulling him towards her and away from the door. 

“Did you…” She swallows her words, unable to finish her question. She locks eyes with Mulder as she grips his arm tighter. He gives her a subtle nod, then pushes through the doorway. 

The darkness that lay behind the threshold smells rich and musky, the persistent odor of mothballs assaulting their senses as Mulder pulls Scully into the room. The familiar scent turns Scully’s stomach, and she fights the urge to turn back. Instead, she stands still, watching as Mulder cautiously walks about the room. His attention is focused on the posters that are hung on the walls, the trinkets that line Lindsey’s dresser, the stout candles that sit atop the bedside table. 

Behind them, the floorboards creak as the door shuts, the snick of the latch engaging resounding in the small space. She tries to call for Mulder, but his name evaporates from her lips. Time seems to slow exponentially, her focus fading as the world around her seems to be dragging to a glacial pace. Darkness spills like watercolor around the edges of her vision as all control over her body vanishes.

She feels heavy and weightless at the same time, as if every single molecule in her body buzzing with life as the world around her is smothering her from existence.

Paralyzed, she watches as Mulder moves towards her, his movements fluid and sluggish. His mouth moves but all she’s able to hear is the sound of blood rushing in her ears with the underlying crunching of static. In a hazy blur she watches as he flicks a lighter, the sparks shatter in the darkness like the brief burst of a firework. His mouth continues to move as a chill rushes over her body, stealing the breath from her lungs. 

As the darkness continues to envelop her, she barely registers the dense shadowy silhouette that forms behind Mulder, it’s edges swirling and protruding. She wants to warn him, to beg him to turn around, to scream, but she can’t. She can’t even gasp.

The waves of static swell in her ears, it’s rhythm taking form with each rolling surge.

Come…in…

Her chest feels heavy with the weight of fear as she tries to gasp for air.

To...the…

Goosebumps ripple across her skin as the feeling of ice cold fingertips brush the skin of her neck.

Darkness

Her vision goes completely dark. 

Tick, tick, tick

Then suddenly she’s bathed in the dim light from a candle, and thrust back into herself. She gasps, gulping in air as warmth floods through her body, normalizing the balance between her and her surroundings. 

“-you hear me, Scully? Hey, hey Scully.”

His hands are all over her, touching her face, her shoulders, her hair. 

“That was a close one,” she hears him say with a chuckle. “Did you feel the dip in temperature in here? I swear as I was counting down from ten I could feel the temperature fall.”

Dazed, she forces herself to nod. 

“Hey, we’re almost done,” he says as he looks at his watch. “Let’s head back downstairs.”

By the time they step into the foyer the game is nearly over. The papers with their names burns brightly in the kitchen sink as Mulder drones on about Scully being right, that the game was a waste of time. She hums in agreement at the appropriate times as he recalls the last few hours, watching as the sole evidence of the night’s occurrences washes down the drain. 

 

Xxxxx

 

RESIDENCE OF FOX MULDER  
4:15AM

As they walk into his apartment, the first thing Scully notices is the smell. The musky scent of old paper from the stacks of folders on the desk, the crisp Downy laundry softener, and a hint of his aftershave permeate the stale air. She feels his arms wrap around her waist from behind and she can’t help but smile to herself. 

It smells like home. 

His fingers play lightly at the hem of her shirt, lightly grazing her stomach underneath, sending shivers across her skin. Her arms seem to raise of their own volition as he pulls her top over her head, dropping it to the floor. He takes his time removing her clothing from behind, his fingertips trailing over the sensitive skin here, his nails scraping lightly over the delicate muscles there. 

His breath comes in short, warm rushes against her neck, punctuated with a kiss for each piece of clothing removed. It isn’t until she’s standing fully naked that she’s able to register the warmth that surrounds her, a warmth that only his body can provide. 

It feels like home. 

Her face is turned by the gentle pull of her chin, the tip of his nose grazing her own. His fingers slide to the back of her neck, burrowing into the back of her hair. Her lips part in anticipation as she feels the rush of his breath on her face. He tastes sweet, like honeysuckle on a warm summer’s night, when his mouth finds hers. 

It tastes like home.

Her eyes feel heavy with exhaustion as he leads her wordlessly into his bedroom and eases her onto her back, but her body comes alive under the weight of him sliding over her. The gasp of her name escapes his lips as he enters her, driving away the tension within with each deep thrust and scrape of his teeth against her neck. The vibration of his voice reverberates through her as he chants her name, the climax building inside of her as his volume increases.

His shoulder muffles his name as she moans it in release, her own repeated one final time as he follows her over the edge.

It sounds like home. 

Later when their limbs are tangled and their dewy skin has been replaced with goose pimpled flesh from the slight chill in the air, Scully quietly recounts her experience from a few hours earlier. His fingers play lazily up and down her spine, listening as she weaves the details of her story.

“Was it him?” she asks as Mulder pulls the sheet higher over them, covering the cool skin of her shoulder that lay across his chest. 

His voice is soft and without judgement when he responds, “Tell me what you think.”

She lifts her eyes to his face, his profile barely visible in the sliver of moonlight that enters the bedroom, and commits each detail to memory as she’s done many times before. The length of his forehead, the slight dip before his prominent nose, the pout of his lips. 

It looks like home.

“I think,” she says softly before pressing her lips to his jawline, “that it feels good to be home.”

 

Xxxxx

 

EPILOGUE  
2 WEEKS LATER

DANA SCULLY RESIDENCE  
SUNDAY  
10:01AM

Scully’s phone rings atop the nightstand next to her bed, its high-pitched tone blaring into the quiet bedroom. Mulder grumbles as he rolls to his side, slapping his hand across the table’s surface before making contact with the phone.

He flips it open. “Mulder.”

“Fox?” 

“Mrs. Scully?” he asks, sitting up in bed. 

“Oh dear, did I call the wrong number?” 

Mulder nudges a sleeping Scully awake and points to the phone, mouthing that it’s her mother. “No, this is Dana’s phone. I must have, uh, must’ve answered it-”

Scully grabs the phone, putting it to her ear. “Hi, Mom.”

“Dana, I’m so sorry, is it a bad time?”

Mulder mouths that he’s sorry, and Scully waves him off. “No, you’re fine, it’s fine.”

“I was just calling to tell you that I saw Jack and Claire Dombrowski at church today, and they seem to be doing well.”

“I’m happy to hear that,” Scully says. “We haven’t heard from them since we received their email last week, so we were hoping that no news was good news.”

“Must be. Claire stopped me after the service. She said everything was going much better, and that their children were back to normal. Oh, and to make sure that I told you her family says thank you again.”

“That’s great to hear, Mom.”

“Alright, sweetheart, well I have to get going. I promised Billy I’d give him a call, but you and Fox have a good day.”

“You too, Mom. Love you.”

Scully hands Mulder the phone, who places it back on the nightstand.

“Everything okay?” he asks as he spoons into the back of her. 

Scully smiles and pulls Mulder’s arm around her. “Everything’s perfect.”

 

Xxxxx

 

DOMBROWSKI RESIDENCE  
MONDAY  
1:13AM

Lindsey lays in bed, the ending chords of The Cranberries ‘Linger’ flowing through her headphones. In just the few weeks after what her family calls ‘the situation,’ her life has become lighter, going back to normal. As soon as she walked in the door that last day, the morning after the agents had played the game, she could feel a difference in the atmosphere. It took some time, but they were finally able to trust that their house was clean from whatever had been oppressing them, haunting them. Joey began sleeping in his room again, and her parents seemed happier. 

They are finally free, Lindsey thinks. 

She yawns and turns to her side, staring at the candles that burn next to her bed. A smile spreads across her face as she watches the shadows dance along the opposite wall.

Then suddenly the flames extinguish, thrusting her back into the darkness. 

End


End file.
